EMERGENCY! Moments In Time
by Ross7
Summary: Each chapter in this never-ending series will be a separate story in itself. . .just a brief glimpse into everyday life at Station 51.
1. Chapter 1

"**EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"**

By Ross7

**Chapter One: "I Can't Recall"**

Squad 51's driver ran his tongue over his throbbing tooth. "Joanne made an appointment for me. Monday at 2:00. Don't let me forget! Okay?"

The Squad's passenger frowned. "I wish you wouldn't ask me to remind you not to forget. I _always_ forget to remind you. And then you blame me for forgetting to remind you not to forget."

DeSoto arched an eyebrow and shot his baffling buddy a sideways glance.

Gage sat there in thoughtful silence for a few blocks. Then he turned to face his partner again, this time, looking smug. "I think I've figured out why you're always forgetting to remember your dentist appointments. You prob'ly have a subconscious mental block about dentists. Prob'ly because of a traumatic experience you once had as a child, in a dentist's office."

Roy looked extremely skeptical. "I don't recall ever having a traumatic experience in a dentist's office."

John was briefly dismayed, but then he brightened. "That's prob'ly because your subconscious has blocked the experience out, causing you to forget you ever had one."

DeSoto looked even more dubious. "Tell me, Sigmund, where did you pick up all the psychobabble?…Psychological jargon," he translated, seeing his partner now looked completely lost.

"Oh." Gage turned to gaze out his window. "I dated a girl once, who was studying to be a shrink."

"Oh yeah?" Roy looked curious, and then somewhat lost, himself. "How come you've never mentioned _her_ before?"

"Wha-at?" John turned back to friend and stared at him in disbelief. "You expect me to tell you about _every_ girl I've _ever_ dated?"

"Up until just now, I thought you **had**."

Gage aimed his annoyed gaze back out his window. "Anyways, she told me the reason I kept forgetting her phone number was because I had once had a traumatic experience with numbers, as a child. And now, my subconscious has a mental block about them." His annoyance suddenly gave way to amusement. "I always figured the reason I kept forgetting her number was because her idea of a really exciting evening was attending a guest lecture...or going to the library—to _study_!" He glanced at his partner again and the two 'guys' exchanged grins.

"Yeah. Well. I figure the real reason I keep forgetting my dentist appointments is...because I've basically got a lousy memory." Roy glanced at his passenger and the two of them swapped grins again.

They reached the Station.

**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**

Roy backed their rescue squad into the parking bay.

Mike Stoker backed Big Red right in beside them.

John jumped out and intercepted Chet Kelly as he came around the back of the Engine. "Don't let me forget that I'm supposed to remind Roy that he's got a dentist appointment. Monday at 2:00," he requested and then disappeared into the day room.

Kelly turned his unhappy face to Marco Lopez, as he came up behind him. "Remind me that I'm supposed to remind Gage to remind Roy that he's got a dentist appointment. Monday at 2:00."

Marco's narrowed eyes followed Chet, as he retreated into the rec' room, but then his countenance brightened as he spotted Mike Stoker stepping down from the Engine. "Hey, Mike! Remind me to remind Chet to remind John to remind Roy about his dentist appointment. Monday at 2:00!" he called out and then fled, before the engineer could refuse his request.

Mike looked thoughtful and turned to his Captain as he came around the front of his beloved fire truck.

Hank Stanley gave his engineer a roll of his eyes—and a reluctant nod.

"Thanks, Cap!" Stoker acknowledged. Then he headed off in the direction of the day room.

Hank disappeared into his office.

**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**

Two minutes later, all eyes looked up, as Stanley strolled into the day room.

The firemen continued watching, as their Captain proceeded to post a note up on the Station's bulletin board.

The guys got up and gathered around, to read the notice.

It simply said: 'Mike, don't forget to remind Marco to remind Chet to remind John to remind Roy that he's got a dentist appointment. Monday at 2:00'.

The Captain stood there for a few moments, looking extremely pleased with himself. "There, gentlemen! I am no longer responsible." He turned to his senior paramedic. "If you forget your appointment _now_, you can't blame me."

The gentlemen glanced at each other and grinned.

Well, everybody but the person with the dentist appointment, that is.

Just then, the tones sounded.

**"Squad 51..."**

The paramedics piled back into to their rescue squad.

Roy turned to his partner, looking more than a little miffed. "Why didn't you just call the dispatcher and have him announce it to the whole department?"

John's face suddenly lit up. "Of course!" he exclaimed, with a loud snap of his fingers. "Roy, remind me to call headquarters—just as soon as we get back! On second thought, I'd better write it down. Cuz, _you're_ bound to _forget_."

His partner gave him the call slip—along with a look of extreme annoyance.

**TBC**

Author's note: Each chapter in this _never-ending_ series will be a separate story in itself…just a brief glimpse into everyday life at Station 51. :D


	2. Chapter 2

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Two: "Five Firemen for A King's Ransom?"**

Southern California was stuck in an oppressive heat wave.

For the fourth consecutive day, both the thermometer and the relative humidity gauge registered in the upper 90s. Making things like fires and rescues—and seats—unbearably sticky for the six LA County firefighters who had the great misfortune of having to work in such inhospitable conditions—conditions that might easily have melted down the mettle of lesser men.

**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**

Midway through their torrid—and unbelievably busy—tour of duty, the alarm re-sounded.

**"Station 51…"**

Captain Hank Stanley's sweat-drenched, and completely exhausted crew detached themselves from the chairs they'd just sunk into and started heading for the garage—and their trucks.

**"Man trapped in meat locker…Legrey Packing Company…4489 West Burns Street…Cross streets Allen and Sayber…Forty-four-eighty-nine West Burns…ambulance responding…Time out…18:27."**

"Station 51, KMG-365…" Stanley acknowledged, and handed his paramedic team a copy of the address. The Station's Commander climbed up into the engine with his copy of the call, and they were off, once again.

**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**

Less than two hours later, the Engine crew filed into their sleeping quarters and collapsed, fully-clothed, onto their bunks.

"Man! That was a cool rescue!" Marco Lopez quipped. He ignored the guys' groans and continued, "I mean it. That was a very pleasant work environment."

The men slowly sat back up and started stripping.

"Too bad we couldn't've stayed the night," Lopez lamented. "I bet that place would make a great environment to sleep in, too."

"Huh!" a rather skeptical Chet Kelly commented. "Who could possibly sleep with that smell?"

"Who can sleep in this heat?" Marco fired back. "I can't sleep in this heat! I could always put a clothespin on my nose for the smell!"

"You could sleep with a clothespin on your nose?" a somewhat amused Mike Stoker asked.

"Who's sleeping with a clothespin on their nose?" paramedic John Gage inquired, as he and his partner, Roy DeSoto, came strolling into the dorm.

"Lights out in two minutes!" their Captain warned.

"How's that guy we pulled out of the locker?" Chet wondered.

"Right now, he's defrosting," Roy replied. "If his wife hadn't been worried and gone looking for him, he'd have been froze to death by morning, but Brackett says we got to him in time. He's gonna be all right."

Kelly looked pleased, and then thoughtful. "I still can't see how that door could get so jammed."

"Maybe there was foul play?" DeSoto proposed as he got down to his drawers.

"Who's sleeping with a clothespin on their nose?" John stubbornly re-inquired.

Stoker finished stripping and collapsed back onto his bunk. "Marco."

Gage was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. He paused in mid-row and raised his right eyebrow. "Why-y?"

"Why else?" the engineer's eyes drooped closed. "To get rid of the smell, of course!"

John's left eyebrow joined its elevated mate. "Hey, Marco!" the now undressed paramedic addressed Lopez a few moments later, as he returned from a quick trip to the latrine. "How can you possibly sleep with a clothespin on your nose?"

Mike and Chet exchanged grins.

Lopez gave Gage an irritated glare and passed him without replying.

"I can't smell anything…" the paramedic confessed, following several cautious sniffs.

Suppressed snickers ensued.

"Goodnight, gentlemen!" Stanley declared and flicked off the dorm lights.

Gage groped around in the darkness for his bunk. He found it and then sprawled out, all the while, grumbling beneath his breath. "Humph! What a dumb idea! We don't even have any clothespins."

"Goodnight, Cap!" Kelly called back. "Goodnight, Mike…Marco…Roy…" he paused. "Goodnight, John-boy!"

"Goodnight, Chet-bob!" Gage shot right back, drowning out his shift-mates' snickers.

"John-boy?" his Captain called out. "You and Chet-bob want to sleep in the garage?"

Needless to say, there was no more talking.

Well, for about five whole minutes, anyways.

Marco, who had been tossing fitfully in his bunk, finally exhaled a frustrated sigh and sat up. "It's no use," he whispered. "It's just too hot to sleep. Can you sleep, Mike?"

"No," Stoker answered softly. "But it's not because of the heat. There's a fly buzzing around my head."

"Why don't you kill it?"

"I can't see in the dark!"

The overhead lights came on.

"Kill the fly—and the whispering!" their Commander commanded.

Roy raised his head up from his pillow, blinked his eyes in the blindingly bright light and glanced around the room. He saw Stoker standing on his bunk, whacking the wall with his shirt. He turned to his partner and noticed that he was more off, than on, his bunk. He got up, stepped over to his about-to-fall-on-the-floor friend and gave his shoulder a slight shake. "Johnny?"

Johnny tossed his head from side to side and groaned irritatedly. "Huh? What? What? Wha-at?" he demanded, following a few more rougher shakes.

"You're about to fall out of bed," DeSoto warned on his way back to his bunk.

Johnny completely ignored his pesky partner. He lay there, staring disbelievingly off across the room at Mike—who was, at the moment, still dancing up and down on his bunk and swinging his shirt wildly through the air.

"I got it! I got it!" Stoker shouted triumphantly. He saw Gage giving him a strange look. "I got it…" the engineer calmly explained.

"Whatever it is you got…_don't_ give it to me!" the paramedic pleaded.

Chet and Marco suppressed snickers.

John closed his wide eyes and then covered them with his right forearm.

"Johnny, if you don't scoot over, you're gonna fall on the floor," Roy reminded his precariously perched partner.

"I'm not gonna fall on the floor," Gage grumbled. "I always sleep like this when it's hot. It's the only way I can sleep."

Marco studied John thoughtfully for a few moments. He dangled both of his legs and one arm off of his mattress, as well, and then balanced his backside on the brink of his bunk—until he was just about to fall. "Hey…John…you're right!" he exclaimed with a grin. "This is downright comfortable!"

"Marco!" the Captain called out. "Stick a clothespin on your lips! The rest of you guys, try to get some sleep!"

"We're tryin', Cap'," Kelly sleepily assured him, "but who can sleep with these lights on?"

The Captain groaned and quickly flicked the overheads off. He heard the sound of muffled snickering, and had to smile.

51's Captain considered it a real privilege to call these five, fine—fun-loving—fellows his friends.

Heck! Hank wouldn't trade his motley crew for anything in the world!

'Make that the entire universe!' the Station's proud Commander mentally noted, before finally nodding off…a smile of deep satisfaction still pasted upon his peaceful, albeit sweaty, face.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Three: "Eight Fringed Squawkers"**

"Ou-ouch!" LA County Firefighter Marco Lopez cried out in pain, as he was bird-beaked between the eyes. "What the–?" he exclaimed further, as the vicious little feathered fiend came at him again...and again. Instinctively, both of his gloved hands went up to protect his face. It's a good thing his legs were locked into the ladder rungs he was standing on, or he'd have fallen for sure—like the hose he'd just dropped.

"Watch it, will yah!" Chet Kelly called up from the base of the ladder, as the falling nozzle nearly clunked him on his helmeted noggin.

"Hey! I'm under attack up here!" the fireman standing up under the steaming eaves of the two-storied dwelling they'd just saved, stated in his defense and kept right on flailing his arms, in a seemingly futile attempt to fend off his feathered foe.

"For cryin' out loud, Marco! It ain't a freakin' California Condor!" his annoyed associate assured him. "It's just an itty bitty little bird!"

"Oh yeah? Well, it's a _mean_ little itty bitty bird!" Lopez expounded, sounding even more annoyed.

Kelly exhaled a derisive snort and started carting their charged line back up the ladder. "You want I should spray the 'big bad birdie' away?"

Marco totally ignored the Irishman's taunt. He was too busy listening to another type of 'squawking'. The fireman paused in his bird battle to look around for the source of the sound.

There, on the ledge of a window, directly beneath his ladder, in a nest fringed with fresh, green moss, were eight squawking baby birds.

The little balls of fluff had just begun to fledge, for he could see little pinfeathers protruding from their protective sheaths.

Marco smiled and watched as the baby birds fluttered their teeny wings and stretched their tiny little legs.

A few of the little fluff balls even pretended to preen themselves. Being only about a week or so old, the huddled babies still needed to be fed every 15 to 20 minutes.

The fireman was being constantly reminded that he wasn't the only one listening to their hungry baby bird 'squawks'. "You have a very courageous mama," Lopez realized aloud. The fireman's undivided attention returned to his tiny–but tenacious—attacker.

"What's my _mama_ got ta do with any a' this?" Kelly breathlessly inquired, as he climbed level with the window ledge and began dodging aerial assaults himself.

"Not _your_ mama," Marco corrected. "_Their_ mama."

Chet glanced down towards where his friend's finger was pointing. "Ahhh...Ain't they cute. Guess that explains psycho-bird, here, huh. Ouch! C'mon! Let's go! There's no fire extension up here, anyways. Just a little steam escaping from some air vents, is all," the Irishman quickly determined.

Speaking of escaping...

Kelly dropped the heavy hose in his hands and rapidly began taking his leave.

"What's the matter, Chet?" Lopez teased, as his colleague quickly disappeared down the ladder. "You're not afraid of an itty bitty little bird. Are you?"

"Shut up and get down here," Kelly advised his grinning associate.

Marco waved his nemesis off one last time and began his own speedy descent.

Mama bird landed on the ledge beside her squawking offspring and fluffed her feathers out, as if to say, 'And _don't_ come back!'

In the end, the 'big bad firemen' were no match for the 'big bad birdie'!


	4. Chapter 4

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Four: "Bloppers"**

_Thud…Thud…Thu-ud…Ker-spla-ash!_

"This is great!" LA County Fire Department Paramedic Roy DeSoto declared over all the 'whooping' and yet another raucous round of applause. "Christopher would love this! If the county sponsors this event again next year—and we don't end up working—remind me to take him."

His paramedic partner and best friend John Gage just continued to sit there—quietly—beside him. His silent associate seemed to be more than a little disappointed and maybe even a tad sad.

"Hey, I'm not sore anymore," Roy assured him.

Upon discovering that his partner had volunteered them for this 'First Annual Big Blopper Competition' duty—without discussing it with him first—DeSoto had been upset…steamed even!

"I mean, let's face it," DeSoto quickly continued, seeing that his chum remained glum. "It's not every day that we get to lounge around in plastic furniture all afternoon, sipping soft drinks and watching nearly-naked, middle-aged men, with spare tires around their waists and entirely too much spare time on their hands…belly flop into a pool of chlorinated water." Roy flashed his somber amigo a broad grin before taking a long, leisurely drag from his ice-cold bottle of Coke.

"That's just it!" Gage bemoaned. "Me-en! We're sittin' here, starin' at a bunch a' ugly gu-uys…with beer guts! When we should be watchin' a bunch a' gorgeous **girls**…in skimpy swimsuits! This was supposed to be a _Swivers_ competition! Man! That Luger is such a liar!"

DeSoto suppressed another grin. It was beginning to sound like he wasn't the only one that had been roped into this 'Big Blopper Competition' duty. He shot his gullible partner a sympathetic glance and then arched an eyebrow. "I gather that bloppers is short for belly floppers, but what, pray tell, does swivers stand for?"

"Swan Divers. There's s'posed ta be a bunch a' beautiful chicks here…swan diving clean out a' their skimpy bikinis!"

Roy gave his girl-crazy comrade another sympathetic glance and suppressed another smile. "Speaking of chlorine…We better back up!" he suddenly advised as a rather rotund contestant carefully made his way to the end of the diving board. "The bigger the belly, the bigger the 'blop'!"

The two men immediately moved their equipment and themselves a few feet further away from the pool.

_Thud...Thud...Thu-ud...Ker-spla-ash!_

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Five: "Red Is For Firefighters"**

LA County Fire Department Captain, Hank Stanley, woke up in a strange bed, to the sound of a smoke alarm going off somewhere. 'Oh. Right. San Diego. The seminar.'

Dropping to the floor of his hotel room, the fireman first went to the window and looked out at his emergency exit.

Seeing that flames were already shooting out onto the building's fire escape, thanks to an open window on the floor below him, Stanley dropped back onto his hands and knees and started crawling toward the door to the hall.

The Captain placed the back of his hand on the portal. It felt cool to the touch. So he slipped the dead bolt off and slowly inched the heavy door open.

* * *

The hotel's hallway was relatively smoke-free.

'The actual fire must be contained to the first floor.'

The guy in the room next to his had apparently been sleeping with his window open and the rising smoke must have set off the alarm he was hearing.

**

* * *

**The experienced firefighter went from door to door, on his floor, rousing folks from their sleep and ushering them towards the safety exits.

Just as they were all about to head down and out of the building, the lights went out.

People began to panic.

"Everybody remain calm!" Hank urged, in his most authoritative voice. "We don't need to see, to get out. Now, everyone just join hands and follow me!" As was his habit, when staying in any strange place, Stanley had memorized the emergency exit route from his room...right down to the number of steps.

Their egress from the burning building was both smooth and uneventful.

**

* * *

**Once outside, the visiting fireman herded his fellow hotel guests to a street corner a safe distance away.

And just in time. Fire companies were beginning to arrive.

Stanley ran up to the first Incident Commander he could spot. "The second floor has been swept. All guests have been evacuated from that floor." Seeing the strange stare his fellow firefighter was giving him, he grinned and added, "Captain Hank Stanley. Los Angeles County Fire Department. Station 51. I'm down here for a seminar on 'High-rise Fires'."

"Captain Mark Fedrizzi. San Diego County Fire Department. Station 15."

He and his counterpart exchanged grins and handshakes.

"Find this man a blanket," Fedrizzi ordered, and his grin broadened. "Interesting set a' turnouts you LA guys got there..."

It was then that the visiting Captain realized he was standing there in nothing but a white muscle T-shirt and his red boxers.

The ones with little white spotted Dalmatians on them. The ones his girls had just given him for Father's Day.

It was also then that Hank Stanley's face grew to about the same shade of red as his shorts.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Six: "Save Your Breath"**

By Ross7

"Have you ever noticed how the odds of a building's elevator bein' _Out Of Service_ always seem to be in direct proportion to how many stories it has?" LA County firefighter/paramedic, John Gage griped as he and his partner, Roy DeSoto, began lugging their heavy equipment cases up a creaking and cramped flight of steep wooden stairs. "I mean, it never fails! The higher the building—the higher the odds. The instant we pulled up, and I saw how tall this place was, I just had this…feeling…that we were gonna be doin' a lot of climbing. Yah know?"

His associate remained silent.

**

* * *

**

"An' why is it," Gage further grumbled, as the panting pair approached their fourth landing, "that the air in these stairwells...is always so…stale?...I been in caves...where the air was more breathable...than this!...Would it kill 'em...ta crack a window...or something?"

Again, his fellow firefighter failed to comment.

**

* * *

**

"Man!...Could it get...any hotter...in here?" John blurted a bit breathlessly as the rescuers reached the sixth floor's landing. "My hand is so dang sweaty...I can hardly hold on ta this handle...They really should take some of that money...they _aren't_ spending on elevator maintenance...and use it to install...some central air!" the profusely perspiring paramedic snidely suggested.

Roy's only reaction was a slight, unseen smile.

That did it! Gage stopped, right in mid step, and turned to his seemingly 'struck dumb' chum. "You okay?"

DeSoto nodded.

"You mad?"

His quiet colleague flashed him a reassuring smile and shook his head.

"You sure?...Cuz, yah know...you haven't said one word ta me...since we left the lobby...Heck!...I might as well be talking...to myself."

"Yah mean...complaining...to yourself," his no longer silent partner quickly corrected. "And yes…I'm sure...I'm not mad...I've just been...saving...my breath," his panting companion calmly explained and, rather reluctantly, aimed his blue eyes upward. "We still got...another _fourteen floors_...ta go, yah know!"

"_Now_ who's..._complaining_?" John jokingly commented and flashed his friend a crooked grin.

Roy's own smiling, and still panting, lips parted—to protest the accusation.

"Uh-uh-uh!...Save...your breath!" his equally winded coworker smartly advised and spun quickly back around.

**

* * *

**

The panting pair continued their arduous climb...and the lead rescuer resumed his complaining.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Seven: "Right On Target"**

By Ross7

Upon being summoned to their Superior's office for some work orders, firefighters Gage and Kelly found Stanley on the phone.

They respectfully waited outside.

To kill time, whilst their Captain conversed, the duo immediately engaged in a friendly little ongoing 'war of words'.

John closed his eyes, swung his right arm and then pointed to a spot on the enormous map of Los Angeles County, on the wall beside them. He opened his eyes and looked surprised. "Ah-hah! Ah-hah! Encino!"

Chet looked thoughtful. "There once was a man from Encino...who developed a vanishing bean-o...One day, to be mean...his wife ate the bean...You ask, 'Has she been seen?'" Kelly's eyes sparkled. "No!"

His competitor was impressed. "Not bad...Not ba-ad. But...bean-o?"

Kelly shrugged and then turned back to the garage wall. He shut his eyes and then took great pains to pick out another 'completely random' spot on the map. "Monrovia!" he proclaimed, prior to reopening his peepers.

Gage gave his grinning crewmate a grumpy look and the tip of his pointing finger a closer scrutiny. "Looks more like Bel Air!"

"Okay," Chet—the cheater—conceded. "Bel Air,"

The paramedic cocked an eyebrow. "Bel Air...Bel Air..." Suddenly, he brightened. "There once was this chick from Bel Air...at whom all the guys...they would stare...But it wasn't because of...the wart on her nose...or even her...complete lack of clothes...It was on account of her...bright purple hair!"

Kelly cringed at the mental image. "Bright purple hai-air?"

"Well, those Bel Air chicks are pretty weird!" John defensively declared

"You oughtta know," Chet teased. "You've dated enough of 'em!"

Gage gave the grinning Irishman another annoyed glare, before raising his arm to begin another round.

"Eh-hem!"

The sound of their Captain, clearing his throat, signaled the end of the game.

With the score tied at one all, the two friendly combatants filed out of the garage.

Hank just stared at the map for a few moments...smiling and shaking his head. Then, he turned and followed the two men—er, boys back into his office.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Eight: "The Phantom Fire Brigade"**

By Ross7

It was a dark and stormy night...in LA County.

Lightning strikes had been causing localized power outages in the Charter Oak area all evening, but that wasn't why the six firefighters from Station 51 were basking in the surreal glow of burning candles.

One of the storm's powerful bolts had hit uncomfortably close and the resulting surge in the electrical lines had apparently blown the ballasts in the building's ceiling fixtures.

At least, that is the conclusion that was reached when simply replacing the six-foot lengths of fluorescent tubing had failed to resolve their lighting problem.

Captain Hank Stanley opened his black leather belt up a notch. "That was a pretty respectable meal, Chester."

The rest of the guys agreed.

'Must be the ambiance,' the chef—who was unaccustomed to compliments—figured. "We should eat by candlelight more often," Chet Kelly determined, as he finished clearing the table.

"Yeah," Mike Stoker concurred. "Especially on the nights you cook."

The guys grinned.

"Kelly obviously cooks better...when he can't see what he's doing," John Gage managed to get out, between giggles.

"Maybe it just tastes better when we can't see what we're eating?" his paramedic partner, Roy DeSoto, counter-proposed.

His colleagues snickered.

"Everything tastes better...when you're starving!" Marco Lopez realized.

It had been an exceptionally busy shift. So the men had missed lunch.

Chet eyed his chuckling chums disapprovingly. "You guys don't deserve any dessert!" he concluded and handed only his fearless, and faithful, Leader a fork.

"Dessert?" the guys exclaimed, in unison.

Stanley studied the fork for a few moments and then flashed his now frowning friends a smug smile.

"Ahhh...C'mon, Chet!" John lamented. "We were just teasing..."

"So was I," Kelly quickly came back. "Gotcha! Now, be a good boy and pass these out for me."

Gage exhaled an amused gasp and began dispensing the eating utensils he'd been handed.

"What are you doing?" Marco wondered, as Chet began to collect the candles that were scattered about the room...and place them all in the center of the table.

"He's trying to gather enough light for me to read by," Hank insincerely said, as his eyes reconnoitered the adjoining rec' room, in search of his evening paper.

"I'm making a campfire," Kelly calmly explained.

His Captain's brows arched and his attention suddenly shifted from his paper to...Kelly's _campfire_?

Chet completely ignored the strange stares he was receiving. "I was gonna make up a double batch of Rice Krispies Treats," he further explained, as he began rummaging around in one of the overhead cupboards. "But then the lights went out, and I got ta thinkin'..._roastin_' 'em might be more fun," he completed his explanation and plopped the two packages of marshmallows, which he'd finally found, down on the dinner table.

A gleeful giggle escaped from Johnny Gage. The paramedic snatched up one of the sacks, ripped it open, pronged one of the plump objects with his fork and held it up to Kelly's ring of candles—er, campfire.

The rest of the firemen quickly followed suit.

"Anybody got a good ghost story?" their Supreme Commander queried, over the ominous sounds of rumbling thunder and wind-thrashed rain.

"I got one," Mike announced. The fireman squirmed nervously and tried sinking down into his seat, as his admission prompted even stranger stares than Kelly's campfire comment had.

"Go on, Mike..." his Captain encouraged.

"Remember last month, when I worked a split-shift for Phil Bucholtz...so he could see his brother graduate?"

The men nodded thoughtfully, gazed into the flickering flames and watched, as their dessert gradually began to brown and mushroom.

Marco's marshmallow combusted and he had to jerk it back and blow it out.

Stoker continued. "Well...at around two in the morning, we got called out to a nursing home fire. The place was already fully involved when we arrived.

The manager assured us that his workers were all out of the building and that all their residents had been accounted for.

So we went to work.

Several of the home's totally disabled residents were lying out on the front lawn when we arrived.

Captain Woodson asked Leeman and Saunders to help the staff carry the invalids across the street...which they did.

We had the fire suppressed and were just about to begin overhauling, when the home's manager came running back up. He said the residents were being moved to another facility, but, before they left, they wanted to thank the firemen that had carried them to safety.

Captain Woodson sent Leeman and Saunders over, to get their 'thank you's."

"What's so _spooky_ about that?" Gage grumbled, through a mouthful of melted marshmallow.

"Turned out, the residents didn't want to thank the firemen who had carried them _across the street_. They wanted to thank the firemen that had carried them _out of the building_."

"What's so _spooky _about that?" the paramedic repeated, and sucked the sticky sweet substance from his fingertips.

Stoker swallowed hard and reluctantly replied, "**We** were _first in_."

Captain Hank Stanley and his crew felt shivers go down their spines...and it wasn't cuz they were cold.

"No-ow, **that's** _spooky_!" Marco nervously acknowledged, as his dessert re-ignited.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

Our favorite paramedics play their own particular **partner's** version of _Twenty Questions_ in...

**Chapter Nine: "That's What Friends Are For"**

Roy DeSoto sat on a bench beside the Nurses' Station at Rampart General, waiting for his partner to come and pick him up.

John Gage stepped up to his seated colleague and then stood there, staring sadly down at the palm of his heavily bandaged left hand. The paramedic had managed to slice the appendage open on a jagged piece of metal, at an MVA, earlier in the day. It was hardly a shift-ending injury. Heck, it had only taken seven stitches to close the cut.

Roy saw his friend's sorrowful look and leapt to his feet. "What's wrong?" he inquired, his voice filled with concern. "Your hand bothering you?"

"No. Remember those two girls in that last car?"

"Miss Haley and Miss Vandorsen?"

"No. Not _that_ last car. The _other_ last car."

"Oh-Oh. You mean, that **last** last car. Don't tell me. Let me guess. You asked Angelique for a date…and she turned you down."

"No-o. I asked **Vanessa** if _she_'d consider going out with me sometime."

"I take it **she** said no?"

"No. She said **yes**."

"That's great!…Isn't it?"

"No. That **was** great. Yah see, I asked her if she'd like to go bowling tomorrow night."

"She doesn't like bowling?"

"No. She loves to bowl."

"She's a better bowler than you are?"

"No. She told me to call her to find out when—and where—to pick her up."

"You forgot to get her phone number?"

"No. She wrote her **un**listed number down right here—on my bandage."

"You're not having _second thoughts_ about calling her?"

"No. My cut must a' opened back up while I was driving in."

"And you need both hands to bowl?"

"No. The blood made the magic marker run. Now I can't make out the numbers."

"Really? We-ell…I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you."

"No? We-ell…you're not me."

"Johnny, you can still call her."

"No, Roy. I can't. I just told yah, her number's **un**listed…and I **lost** it. I don't have it anymore."

"Relax. _All _is **not** _lost_."

"No? When I don't call, she's gonna think I stood her up."

"I'm sure it won't come to that."

"Oh no? What makes you so sure?"

"Because you **have** her phone number."

"No. I **had** her phone number." Gage quickly corrected and held his bloody, black ink-smeared palm up in front of his partner's smiling face, as proof.

"**Have**," DeSoto stubbornly repeated. "It was _pretty obvious_ that you were 'interested'. So I had her write it down, while she was signing the release form."

"**No-o**? You **didn't**?"

"**Ye-es**. I **did**."

"No. You didn't."

"What? You don't believe me?"

"No. I don't."

"See for yourself…" Roy invited and pulled a folded slip of paper from his front shirt pocket.

John snatched the note, opened it up and stared down at **the** phone number—in both relief and disbelief. He flashed his thoughtful, old buddy a grateful grin. His partner knew him soooo well! "Thanks! I—I don't know what to say…"

"Eh. What are friends for?" his best pal simply prompted. "By the way, I got Angelique's number, too. Just in case it **doesn't** _work out_ with you and Vanessa…"

John's right eyebrow suddenly raised…somewhat. Perhaps his partner knew him a little **too** well?

**Fini**

Author's note: MVA stands for Multiple Vehicle Accident.


	10. Chapter 10

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Ten: "He Should've Known"**

By Ross7

"LA, Squad 51 available…" John Gage informed the dispatcher.

"**10-4, Squad 51…**" headquarters quickly came back.

The paramedic replaced their rescue truck's dash-mounted radio's mic'. "And that's not even the _worst_ part!"

Roy DeSoto groaned inwardly, as his partner proceeded to pick the conversation up right where he'd left off—which was right in mid rant.

"She knew—_all week_—where I intended to take her. And she waits until we're already sitting in our very costly—and incredibly hard to come by—_front row_ seats—to tell me…that she **hates** Monster Trucks! Man! It's a good thing I didn't spring _big bucks_ for those pit passes I was gonna get. And—and you're not gonna believe this—but _that's_ not even the _worst_ part! After the girl informs me that she absolutely **hates** the date, I make the _hu-uge_ mistake of asking her **why** she didn't _tell_ me—how she hated the whole idea of the 'Monster Truck Show'—_a week ago_. So I could have planned something else. You know what she says? Do. You. Know. What. She. Says?"

"I give up. What does she 'says'?"

"She sa-ays…_I should've known_. Kin you believe it? _I should've known_! Ro-oy…Do I look like some kind a' 'mind-reader' to you?"

"I hate to tell you what you look like to me…"

The pair rode on in blessed silence for a few blocks.

Finally, Roy's curiosity got the better of him. "So…Did you leave the 'Monster Truck Show'…and take her someplace else?"

"Are you kidding me? Are you _kidding me_? After what I had to go through to _get_ those tickets? I had to promise Pete Henschel I'd work a split shift for him. I gave up _half_ a' one of my days off, to get those seats! Na-ah-ah. I told her, if she wanted to leave, I'd give her twenty bucks for the cab fare home and...she took it."

DeSoto suppressed a slight smile. "I should've known…"

**Rant Off**


	11. Chapter 11

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Eleven: "Just Hangin' Out"**

By Ross7

The two paramedics stood at the base of the steep rocky cliff, staring up at their motionless victim.

Roy rested a hand on his partner's right wrist. "You got everything you need?"

His partner nodded, but then proceeded to say, "I wish the Department would issue us some 'grippier' soled shoes…and put some lights on the front of our helmets. You know, like the kind the coal miner's wear? Oh, and I could really use a pouch of climbing rosin, too. Every squad should prob'ly start carryin' some a' _that_ stuff."

"Johnny, I really think we should wait for the chopper."

"You heard the dispatcher. It'll be dark before it gets here. Besides, his girlfriend says he's bleeding real ba-ad."

'Slippery shoes…slippery fingers…no light on his helmet.' DeSoto didn't like it—and he said as much. "I don't like it. What if something happens?"

"Nothing's gonna happen. I climb rocks all the time. Remember?"

Roy pointed up. "So does he. That didn't stop him from falling."

"Yeah. Well…he didn't have _you_ for a partner."

"How is having me for a partner gonna prevent you from breaking every bone in your entire body?"

"Gee, Roy…I really can't tell you how much I appreciate your confidence in my climbing ability."

"It's not your climbing ability that concerns me. It's your _landing_ ability. And don't dodge the question. How does having me for a partner make _you_ invincible?"

Gage flashed his worried buddy a broad, cocky grin. "If something were to happen—which it **won't**—you'll be here to 'break my fall'."

"Yah mea-ean, I'll be here to 'pick up the pieces'."

John feigned disappointment. "Are you sayin', you **won't** at least _try_ to catch me?"

"Are you sayin', you **would** _try_ to catch me?"

"No-o…but you're a lot heavier."

Roy reached out and shoved his incorrigible companion toward the cliff.

Johnny began his arduous journey up the mountainside.

"Be careful!" his concerned colleague called up.

"That goes without saying!" the climber shot back.

"Not when I have **you** for a partner, it doesn't!" DeSoto reminded his fearless friend.

"Sheesh, Roy! Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother to hang out with you," the rescuer grumbled, as his sweaty fingers fumbled for a more secure hold on a rocky outcrop.

"Probably, because I'm a _paramedic_!"

"Undoubtedly!" Gage agreed. "But that's not the **only** reason…I also hang out with you cuz' you're just so gosh darn..._supportive_!" He glanced down the treacherous slope, and the two partners traded grins.

**The End**


	12. Chapter 12

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Twelve: "Outside the Box"**

By Ross7

He opened the door and peered inside. His flashlight's powerful beam probed the haze-filled office. The firefighter's eyes confirmed what the back of his ungloved hand had already told him: _this_ room was **not** on fire…yet. Gage breathed a silent sigh of relief and quickly slipped inside. "Ro-oy?!" he called out through the clear plastic shield of his facemask.

"Over here, Johnny!" his partner shouted back, from somewhere across the pitch-black void.

The fireman's light was flashed in the vicinity of his friend's muffled voice. Gage exhaled a second sigh of relief, as his previously missing partner's familiar form finally appeared.

DeSoto was standing in front of one of the building's steel-shuttered windows, holding their HT in his raised right hand. "Cap'! Johnny just arrived!"

"**Okay, Roy!**" their Captain came back, relief evident in his voice. "**Just give us **_**five**_** minutes! We'll get a ladder into position and get you guys out a' there! Hang on, pal!**"

"Right, Cap'!" Roy signed off and slowly lowered their radio. "I sure hope I counted right!"

"Third floor?" John double-checked. "North side?"

His companion nodded.

"Six doors from the front—or, four doors from the back—of the building?" Gage inquired further.

His buddy's helmeted head bobbed again.

John heaved his third sigh of relief in as many minutes. But his relief was to be short-lived.

Over the loud 'swooshing and swishing' of their regulated breathing, '_snapping_', '_crackling_', and '_popping_' could clearly be heard, coming from out in the building's burning hallway. The two trapped firemen turned in the ominous sounds' direction and then swapped a couple of unseen, anxious glances.

The place was already going all 'Rice Krispies' on them!

The people the pair had been sent in to rescue were beyond help. Now, it seemed their_ rescuers _soon would be, as well.

John ran his light over their obstructed escape route. "Man! We are so-o screwed!" he suddenly realized, and frantically began flashing his light's beam about the room. "We gotta get **outta** here!"

"You heard the Cap'!" Roy told his panicking companion, sounding a whole lot calmer than he actually felt. "They'll be coming through this window in less than _five_ minutes!"

"I know! I know!" His partner pointed to the room's only other exit. "But the fire's gonna be through that door—and this floor—in less than _three_!"

DeSoto didn't argue. He knew his frantic friend was right. The air was becoming hazier by the second and the room's temperature was rising—rapidly! "Yeah. Well," the paramedic motioned to the thick chain links and padlock that were preventing the window's steel shutters from swinging open, "unless you got a pair a' bolt-cutters in your back pocket, we're not gonna be goin' _anywhere_, _anytime_ **sooner** than five minutes!" The frustrated fireman glanced down at his feet and gave a busted chair—which he'd just tried to use as a battering ram—a swift kick.

John smiled, as his probing light pierced the smoky haze, illuminating an air-conditioning vent in the ceiling tiles, directly over their heads. "That's your problem, Roy," his partner lightly pointed out. "You don't think 'outside' the box!"

"Are you kidding? My brain is so _parboiled_, I can barely think 'inside' the box!" his companion confessed and glanced glumly up at the ceiling. "That opening looks a little _small_…"

The roar of the fire was growing louder and louder by the moment. The air temperature in the room was becoming downright unbearable.

The firemen could feel the intensifying heat through the soles of their feet.

"We won't know for sure—until we try," his partner calmly came back and crossed over to a nearby desk.

"Forget it!" DeSoto advised. "It's bolted to the floor. They're bolted to the wall," he tacked on, as his friend turned toward the office's filing cabinets.

An annoyingly loud 'clanging' sound suddenly filled the super-heated air, as the 'low pressure' alarms went off on both men's SCBAs—almost simultaneously. The firemen disconnected the hoses from their air regulators and shoved them inside their bulky turnout coats. Their heavy, nearly drained air bottles were quickly discarded.

Roy pulled their handheld radio from his coat pocket and re-thumbed its call button. "HT 51 to Engine 51! Cap', the fire's closing in and we just ran out of air! We're moving up to the _fourth_ floor, via a ventilation shaft. Once we get up there, we're gonna try to make it to the room right above this one!"

"**Roger that, Roy!**" Hank Stanley solemnly responded. "**The stabilizers are down on 123's and we're just about to raise the ladder! Good luck, you guys!**"

"Thanks, Cap'!" DeSoto replied and re-pocketed their radio. "We're gonna need it," he added, just beneath his labored breath. Even filtered by his coat, the super-heated air he was inhaling was irritating the hell out of his lungs. The paramedic pulled his flashlight out and flicked it on.

Gage stepped back across the now spongy feeling, slightly tacky, smoldering floor, to stand directly under the AC vent again. One of them was going to have to make it without a leg up.

As predicted, the fire quickly burned its way through the office's flimsy door. In fact, flames were now popping up everywhere.

John pocketed his light. Then he leaned forward and locked his gloved fingers together, forming a step for his partner.

"You're younger," DeSoto determined, and refused to lift a foot.

"You're prettier," his partner promptly shot back.

"You're lighter," Roy tried again, changing tactics.

"You're shorter," Johnny stubbornly replied—er, lied. He knew they were both 6'1".

DeSoto shot his exasperating partner an unseen glare of extreme annoyance. He knew Gage would _never_ give in. Fortunately, for the both of them, Roy knew when to. The paramedic placed his left foot in his infuriating friend's locked hands, latched onto Johnny's shoulders, and was hoisted up to the hole—the tiny hole.

The fireman's probing fingers fumbled with the vent's slatted cover for a few moments, and finally succeeded in lifting and slipping the obstruction out of the way. Roy tossed the grate aside and stuck his arms up through the narrow opening. With much effort—and a big boost from his stubborn buddy down below—DeSoto managed to haul himself up into the AC vent.

The paramedic was pleasantly surprised, as the ventilation shaft, itself, turned out to be a lot larger than the hole in the office's tiled ceiling. Somehow, he even got himself turned around. The fireman set his light aside. Then he tugged his gloves off and lowered his arms back into the flame-engulfed office. He might not be able to give Gage a _leg up_, but he could sure as heck give him some _hands down_.

Sweat was now streaming from John's forehead in thick, ticklish torrents. He blinked the stinging substance from his burning eyes and stared disbelievingly out—through his fogged up face shield—at his partner's dangling arms. 'How in the hell did you ever manage to turn around in such tight quarters?' he silently wondered. The fireman stashed _his_ gloves into his coat pockets and lifted his arms as high as he could. Their fingers brushed. But, even standing on the tips of his toes, his partner's extended wrists remained just _out _of reach.

Roy braced his legs against the walls of the ventilation shaft and lowered his arms further into the room. "Jump!" he urged, as the back of his friend's bunker coat began to smoke.

Gage hesitated. He realized that he was only going to have _one_ chance to make it. Because, if he jumped—and missed his partner's outstretched wrists—he was pretty certain that he would go sailing clear through the disintegrating floor, when he came back down again.

"C'mon, Johnny!" Roy encouraged, as flames began to lick at his friend's feet. "Jump!"

Johnny shoved his helmet back and pulled his fogged up facemask down, so he could get a clearer view of his intended targets. Then he crouched down and made a tremendous leap—of unwavering faith. Even if _he_ missed, his partner wouldn't. Roy would _always_ catch him!

The two firemen grasped each other's wrists and then hung on—for dear life!

DeSoto grimaced and gasped, as Gage's dead weight suddenly threatened to drag him back down into the burning room. The straining fireman no sooner stopped **his** death slide, when he felt his _friend's_ grip begin to slip. Roy's racing heart skipped a beat or two…or three…or four…or more. His own grip on his partner's wrists tightened. "Grab onto my left arm!" he directed, through teeth that were clenched as tightly as his fists.

His buddy obeyed, latching onto his left arm with both of his hands.

DeSoto drew his right arm back up to his body and then used it to shove himself further down the ventilation shaft.

In the slow, deliberate, exhausting process, his fitfully coughing partner was pulled up out of the flaming office and into the narrow shaft, as well.

"Thanks!" John breathlessly declared, between coughs.

Roy flashed his panting partner a broad grin. "Now _I'm_ **taller**!" he teased.

Gage returned his grin and quickly replaced his facemask and helmet.

The metal ventilation shaft was becoming too hot to touch, and the air inside it was becoming too hot to breathe.

"I can see why you wanted to move," DeSoto continued to tease. "It's a **lot** _cooler _up he-ere!"

"Oh-oh quit complaining," Gage groused, between coughs. "We'd both be a couple a' charcoal briquettes by now, if we'd a stayed where we were, and you know it!" The panting paramedic paused to squint the salty streams of sweat from his blurry, burning eyes again. "Sheesh! It is a **lot** _hotter_ up here, ain't it!" He locked foggy gazes with his friend. "Whose dumb idea was **this**?"

The two trapped rescuers traded grins again.

DeSoto _somehow_ got himself turned back around.

The panting pair redonned their protective gloves and began crawling off, in search of the nearest _vertical_ ventilation shaft.

Just a few feet down a ways, the crawling searchers found one, and then used it to get to the fourth floor.

* * *

The two men started to retrace their route.

"This _should_ be the right room," Roy announced, when they'd reached the required distance from the vertical ventilation shaft. He pulled the grate from **the** ceiling opening and dropped it down through the open hole.

The duo got themselves turned around and then slipped down through the hole, as well.

Suffering from heat exhaustion, and a lack of oxygen, the still trapped rescuers were now too whoozy to stand.

Both men immediately dropped to their knees and then sprawled out onto the office's carpeted floor—face first.

Gage lay there like that for awhile, coughing…and groaning. Then he slipped his helmet off and rolled over, onto his back.

"What's wrong?" his concerned companion queried, and raised his slightly reeling head up off the floor.

"Nothin'," John assured him. "I was just _done_ on **that** side…is all."

Roy rolled his watering eyes and allowed his dizzy, helmeted head to drop back down.

Gage grinned up through the haze, at the gaping hole they'd just dropped through. "What's that 'quaint' expression…Kelly says his cousin's boyfriend is always sayin'?" he inquired, between coughs. "Poke me with a fork, and call me cooked?"

DeSoto's parched lips formed a slight smile. "Well, stick a fork in me and call me done!" he obligingly corrected.

John snickered, and then coughed—some more. "Yeah…that's it! I love that!"

Roy mustered the where-with-all to raise himself up onto his elbows. He reached down and dug their radio out of his coat pocket. "HT 51 to Engine 51…"

"**Engine 51!**" their Captain quickly came back, relief once again evident in his voice. "**Go ahead, Roy!**"

"Cap', we made it! We _should_ be in the room directly above the one we were just in!"

"**Great! We're almost there! We're gonna be using the Jet Ax to get through those shutters. So you two had better move away from the window…**"

"Right, Cap!" Roy acknowledged.

But the pair just continued to lie there, like a couple a' limp noodles.

John coughed and exhaled a weary sigh. "We should probably _move_, huh…"

"Probably," his partner conceded, sounding equally weary.

Gage groaned and reluctantly began to roll off across the carpeted floor—away from the window.

DeSoto struggled up onto his hands and knees and managed to crawl a few feet from the danger zone, himself—before collapsing back down onto the carpeting.

Three explosions followed, in rapid succession. The first two were muffled and came from directly below them. Apparently, their air bottles had just blown. The third sounded from just outside their window, as the Jet Ax's shaped charge was detonated, cutting a large rectangular opening in the sturdy, steel shutters.

The two rescue men looked up in time to see _their_ rescuers climbing into the room.

51's no longer trapped paramedics struggled to their unsteady feet. But the intense heat, and oxygen deprivation, had drained too much of their strength. The pair didn't protest, as they found themselves being carried over to the platform of 123's aerial ladder.

* * *

Once the duo was safely 'out and down', 36's paramedics started them on 10 liters of oxygen, to flush the carbon monoxide out of their systems. Each man was also given a complete medical evaluation.

The rescued rescuers were presenting classic symptoms of heat exhaustion, and were treated accordingly. The two firemen had also suffered some first-degree burns and their lungs were somewhat congested.

Patient one, in particular, was showing signs of smoke inhalation.

51's paramedics were ordered—by both their Captain and Dr. Brackett—to report to Rampart's ER, for a further evaluation of their fitness to return to duty.

Not surprisingly, Gage pleaded with their boss to be allowed to drive the Squad in. Johnny made it perfectly clear that he did **not** need—nor desire—to be taken to the hospital in the _back of an ambulance_!

Roy couldn't help but smile.

His partner was, _literally_,thinking 'outside' the box.

**The End**

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Thirteen: "An Eye for an Eye"**

By Ross7

Station 51's Captain watched, in dismay, as one of the people they'd been dispatched to pull from a multi-car pileup suddenly lashed out at his rescuer. Stanley steadied the partially-blinded paramedic and started steering him away from his attacker.

John Gage muttered a few choice expletives, beneath gasped breaths, and managed to take a couple of trusting steps back from the crumpled Corvette, before stopping and dropping to one knee. The injured fireman remained crouched there, shielding his right eye with his left hand, and sadly shaking his hanging head. "Ah, ma-an! I don't _be-lieve_ this!"

Hank placed a supportive hand on the paramedic's back and promptly summoned his partner over. "DeSoto!"

"What happened?" Roy DeSoto inquired, as he came running up. He set the bright orange equipment case he was carrying down on the grass and then stooped beside his apparently _pained_ pal.

"You familiar with the phrase: _An eye for an eye_?" Gage grumbled.

His puzzled partner replied in the affirmative. "Yeah…" DeSoto repeated aloud, when he realized that his hurting associate was currently **un**able to see his nod.

"I was performing an IPS on the convertible's passenger," Johnny quietly continued. "I flicked my penlight in his right eye, and he flicked his finger in mine."

Roy gave their Captain a questioning glance.

Hank nodded grimly, and gave Gage's sagging left shoulder a reassuring squeeze. It was common knowledge that victims of head trauma could suddenly become combative, and his guys had been on the receiving end of more than one victim's _combativeness_. Hell, in the course of the past six years, Stanley had witnessed his paramedics being bitten and kicked, slugged and slapped, pinched and punched, and pushed and prodded by the very people they were trying their damnedest to help. Now, it appeared 'eye-gouged' could be added on to that loooong list. The Captain pulled the HT from his coat pocket and asked LA to dispatch an additional squad to their location.

"Move your hand," Roy suddenly requested.

Johnny obediently lowered his left hand.

Roy winced. A steady stream of pink-tinged tears told him that—somewhere beneath that tightly clamped lid—his partner's eye was bleeding. "Open up. So I can take a look."

Johnny just shook his head. "Burns too much."

Roy appealed to a higher power.

The Captain completed his call and re-pocketed his radio. Hank saw his senior paramedic's pleading glance and repeated, rather authoritatively, "Open up. So he can take a look."

Roy gave their Captain a grateful nod, as his stubborn patient immediately did as directed—er, ordered.

Johnny reluctantly raised the lid on his injured right eye. The fireman's face filled with a grimace and he hissed in pain, as air came into contact with his open wound and it _really_ started stinging! The pained paramedic had everything he could do to keep from batting his partner's probing fingers away from his damaged eye. His Captain must have sensed that he was having a hard time holding still, because he suddenly rested _his_ hands on his wrists.

His partner finally completed his eye exam. "You've got a pretty nasty cut on your lower conjunctiva," he solemnly reported. "His fingernail may have also scratched the sclera. I couldn't see any damage to the cornea, but that doesn't mean there isn't any. Right now, your eye is just too watery and bloody for me to tell." The paramedic stopped speaking and opened the orange case at his feet. He passed Stanley a couple of sterile compresses and a few rolls of gauze. "Bandage both eyes for me, will yah, Cap? I gotta get back to the 'other' accident victims."

The Captain released their restless patient's wrists and accepted the proffered first-aid supplies. "You know the drill," the fire officer reminded the even antsier paramedic, just as John was about to protest. "We have to cover the good eye to keep the damaged eye from movin' around."

Gage exhaled an exasperated gasp. Until the other squad arrived, his poor partner was going to have his hands full. The injured paramedic heard the sound of paper tearing and felt his Captain gently place a sterile compress over each of his watering eyes.

"Hold these," Hank requested. Gage did, and Stanley started securing the dressings in place. The Captain pulled a pair of scissors from the black leather pouch on his patient's belt and used them to cut the gauze horizontally, creating strips with which to tie off his expertly applied bandage.

Speaking of hands…

John noted the competent medical care he was receiving, at their Captain's skillful hands. That was when he realized that each member of Engine 51's crew possessed the same medical expertise. That was also when the paramedic stopped worrying so much about his partner.

With the help of his fellow firefighters, Roy's hands wouldn't be so _full_, after all.

* * *

Squad 36 arrived eight minutes later. Its occupants bailed out and then stood there, staring at John Gage—and his bandaged eyes.

The blind paramedic was busy relaying vital signs and doctor's instructions. His eyes may have been temporarily out of commission, but his ears and jaws were apparently working just fine!

The two new arrivals exchanged amazed glances and immediately went to work.

More wailing sirens announced that the ambulances were also now 'on scene'.

The Captain pulled Chet Kelly out of one of the crumpled cars. "Reinforcements have arrived. I want you and John to start heading over to the hospital," he announced, and pointed a finger toward the parked rescue truck. Hank was more than a little concerned. If his paramedic's eyesight became impaired, because his wound wasn't treated in a timely fashion, it could quite possibly be a career-ending injury for him.

Kelly readily nodded his compliance. He headed over to the paramedic with the bandaged eyes and 'somehow' managed to pull him away from the Bio-phone. "C'mon, John…" he gently urged, and began guiding Gage over to the Squad. "Cap' wants the two of us to take a little ride on over to Rampart."

"Okay," John calmly conceded. "But **I'm** drivin'."

"That's fine by me, babe!" Chet played along. "You drive around like you're _blind half the time_, anyway."

"Look who's talkin'. **I'm** not the one with a fresh _ding_ in my front bumper."

"Hey! I was **parked** and this ditzy blonde _backed into me_!"

Stanley overheard the two gentlemen's—er, _twits'_ exchange and couldn't help but smile. The Captain glanced around at his five-man crew, his eyes beaming with pride. Hank was eternally grateful that he'd been granted the _privilege_ of working—shoulder to shoulder—with each and every fun-loving one of them!

**The End**

**Author's note: **IPS stands for Initial Patient Survey.


	14. Chapter 14

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Fourteen: "That's What THEY Say"**

The A-Shift crew of L.A. County Fire Station 51 had been toned out to assist Battalion 14 and Truck 123 with a structure fire, at around midnight. The exhausted firefighters didn't make it back to quarters until nearly four a.m..

* * *

Captain Hank Stanley, and the rest of his washed-up men, dragged themselves into their dorm and began sliding suspenders from their sagging shoulders.

"Lights out in two!" Stanley told his dog-tired crew.

John Gage noticed that someone had placed a magazine upon his bedspread. He recognized the periodical's owner by its unique size. "Chet, what is your Readers Digest doing on my bunk?"

Chet Kelly was in the process of setting up his bunkers. "I wanted to make sure you would read the article on page 98."

His curiosity piqued, the paramedic picked the periodical up and began flipping through its pages. "Pneumonia is Still a Killer," he read aloud. John rolled his eyes and tossed the magazine back to its owner.

Kelly caught it. "Aren't you interested in what they have to say?"

"What do THEY know?" Gage asked right back.

Roy DeSoto finished setting up the bottom half of his bunkers. He tossed his blankets back and plopped down on his bed. "THEY?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You mean, those nameless little experts on anything and everything?" He crawled beneath his covers and gazed blearily up at the ceiling. "THEY say, they know _everything_."

The guys grinned.

"THEY say, you can't judge a book by its cover," Kelly added, getting into the light-hearted swing of things. That said, he tossed his Readers Digest back onto his buddy's bunk.

"THEY say, you can't believe everything you read," the paramedic countered and promptly whipped the periodical back across the aisle.

Marco Lopez caught the devious gleam in Chet's eyes. "THEY say, there's more than one way to skin a cat."

Mike Stoker buried himself beneath his blankets. "THEY say, beauty is only skin deep."

DeSoto snuggled down in his comfortable bed and closed his eyes. "THEY say, the way to a man's heart, is through his stomach."

Gage finally got the bottom half of his turnouts all set up. "THEY say, it's always darkest before the dawn," the groggy fireman contributed, before falling exhaustedly back onto his bunk.

The dorm lights went out.

"THEY say," Hank Stanley announced—er, warned, "that, after the Captain orders 'lights out', those—who are caught talking—get to sleep in the _garage_. An' you wanna know something? THEY're **right**!"

And, **right** THEY must have been!

For, no one said another word.

**The End**


	15. Chapter 15

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Fifteen:** "**The Nose Knows" **

Captain Hank Stanley, and the rest of his five-man crew from LA County's Fire Station 51, watched and waited, as a Special Weapons and Tactics team surrounded a single-storied, wooden-framed structure in a quiet residential neighborhood.

The police where present because four armed-robbery suspects were, supposedly, 'holed up' inside the house.

The Fire Department was standing by on the scene, with hoses in hand and air-packs in place, because the cops were planning to lob tear gas into the building.

Tear gas canisters come equipped with an incendiary device, which detonates upon impact. The pyrotechnics heat up the shell of the projectile, causing the irritating liquid it contains to become an irritating mist. Turning the liquid to a mist allows the offensive chemical particles to cover a much broader area.

Unfortunately, if a deployed tear gas canister should happen to come into contact with a combustible material—such as shag carpeting—the incredible heat that is being generated could also cause a _fire _to occur.

So the six firemen stood—safely—by, in the shadows of their trucks, and waited for 'events' to unfold.

* * *

When the cop in charge _finally_ informed the dwelling's current occupants that they were surrounded, and ordered them to surrender, the four heavily armed robbers responded with a barrage of bullets.

Hank and his crew hunkered down even further and continued to watch, as one of the cops took careful aim at one of the home's unbroken side windows.

"Fire in the hole!" Chet Kelly quietly declared, as the police officer's finger tightened on the weapon's trigger.

The rest of the guys glanced at one another and grinned.

Even the Captain couldn't help but smile.

Kelly's quiet comment had managed to ease the 'tension of the moment'—considerably.

The sound of more glass shattering was closely followed by a whole lot of shouting and cursing.

After the initial shouting and cursing, came even more cursing—accompanied by a great deal of coughing.

The tear gas had apparently taken all the 'fight' out of the four felons because, when they were ordered to toss their weapons out and then exit the home—with their hands on their heads—the quartet of no-longer-hardened criminals did so, and were immediately taken into custody.

Hank saw his paramedics exchange a pair of extremely relieved glances.

The two men were tremendously relieved that their _medical expertise_ would **not** be needed—this time.

Once the four coughing, crying criminals were all carefully frisked, hand-cuffed and accounted for, and two gas-masked members of the S.W.A.T. team had thoroughly inspected the house, the cop in charge gave Station 51's Captain an 'all clear' signal.

Hank passed the signal along to his Engineer.

Mike Stoker promptly primed Big Red's pump.

His five fellow firefighters lowered their facemasks snuggly into place. Then they redonned their helmets and started carting their limp hose lines toward the now-smoking building.

* * *

The firemen entered the single-storied structure and found the home's living room already _well_ involved.

Stanley raised his handheld radio and requested that their lines be charged.

Within a matter of moments, the hoses started to stiffen in their hands and their cracked nozzles began to spit and sputter, as the air was flushed from the lines.

With water now at their disposal, the Captain and his crew went to work.

* * *

Even though the fire had a good fifteen-minute headstart on them, it proved to be no match for the capable crew of Station 51. In less than five minutes, the raging blaze had been deemed 'under control'.

The carpeting was thoroughly doused, but the freely-burning fire had had ample time to work its way down into—and through—the living room's floorboards.

Hank, and two of his men, began 'salvage and overhaul' operations.

The Captain ordered the other two members of his crew to go 'down below' to check for fire extension.

* * *

"I found it!" firefighter/paramedic John Gage exclaimed, upon discovering the opening to the building's crawl space.

The tiny, boarded-up opening in the foundation's concrete blocks was hidden behind some thorn-bearing bushes, directly beneath one of the living room's shattered windows.

By the time Kelly got there, Gage had already removed his air-pack.

Chet saw the size of the entryway they were gonna hafta crawl through, and started sliding his SCBA off, as well. "After you…" the fireman invited, and waved his arm toward the tiny opening, with a flourish.

"After **you-ou**…" Gage gallantly countered.

Neither man relished the idea of having to _face_ all those Black Widow spider nests and cobwebs. So neither of them moved.

"Short stick goes in first," the paramedic determined. Then, before his unhappy pal could protest, he snapped two 'undetermined' lengths of twigs off of one of the nearby bushes and placed them behind his back, to 'mix' them up. "Ouch! Ou-ouch!" the foxy fireman declared, as his fingers kept finding the thorns. Finally, John held out his hand, so Chet could pick his stick.

Kelly gave Gage a wary glance and, reluctantly, began reaching for one of the semi-concealed objects. Midway to the twig on the left, he changed his mind, and ended up picking the right stick, instead. At least, he hoped it was the 'right' stick.

That left the 'left' twig for John.

Kelly stared down at the extremely _short_ stick in his hand and frowned.

"Ah-hah! Ah-hah!" Gage gloated, and gave his stick a quick toss, before the length of the two twigs could be compared.

"You probably cheated," Chet griped, pulling a flashlight from his coat pocket and flicking it on. "_Both_ sticks were probably short," he sourly surmised, and slowly started sinking to his knees, all the while looking out for shards of broken glass.

'Probably,' the still-grinning paramedic _silently_ conceded, and carefully dropped to the ground, as well. He knew his mustached amigo was just sore cuz **he** hadn't come up with the 'short stick' idea _first_.

His still-grumbling buddy began fumbling with the chintzy chunk of crumbling plywood that was only partially obstructing the crawl space's extremely small opening. He got the flimsy board detached and gave it a toss. 'Sheesh! God only knows _what_ could a' crawled in there!' he thought, with a shudder, and, regrettably, began inching his way into the cramped—and creepy—crawl space.

Gage waited until his buddy's booted feet were well out of the way, before poking his helmeted head into the hole. He had made it about halfway into the dark, dank cavern, when his friend suddenly pressed his posterior—rather forcibly—into his face. For some reason—as yet unknown to him—his buddy was beating a hasty retreat. The paramedic didn't waste any time asking questions. He just threw it in reverse.

* * *

John backed out of the crawl space and then waited for his friend's feet to appear in the opening, before finally speaking. "You'd better have a good reason for backing your butt into my fa—" the paramedic heard his companion gagging and paused in mid-threat, his irritation instantly turning to alarm. "What's the matter? You okay? Did you inhale some of that tear gas?" he anxiously pondered, and pulled his obviously distressed associate out of the hole.

Kelly, who was still too busy gagging to be able to reply verbally, simply blinked his tear-streaming eyes and shook his cobweb-covered head.

The paramedic's already elevated panic level shot up several notches. "Hey, Ca-ap?! Ro-oy?!…Somethin's wrong with Chet!" he went on to explain, as both his Captain's and his partner's heads promptly appeared in the open window, directly above them.

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" Kelly assured his worried shiftmates, when he could finally speak again.

His concerned coworkers exhaled simultaneous sighs of relief.

"A cat—or somethin'—must a' crawled in there and died," Kelly quickly continued. "Ma-an! I tell yah! The smell of putrificating flesh was **really** _overpowering_!"

"_P_-_Put_—_Putrificating_?" Gage somehow managed to repeat, between suppressed snickers.

Chet's watering eyes narrowed and his mustached mouth formed a frown.

Judging by the muffled snorts coming from inside the house, John was not alone in his amusement.

"It is so-o-o-o **not** funny!" Chet assured his seemingly heartless shiftmates. "And there's a puddle a' puke in there to _prove_ it!" The fireman's frown deepened, as his latest admission only succeeded in increasing his fellow crewmembers' mirth.

Stanley struggled desperately to keep a straight face. "Did you see any signs of fire extension?"

"Sorry, Cap…" Kelly sheepishly replied. "Guess I was too busy gagging to notice."

"We can't leave here, until that crawl space has been inspected," their Captain informed them, "a-and I expect the _two of you_ to **do** the inspecting."

"Ah-uh, Ca-ap," Chet pouted. "It **really** _stinks_ in there—somethin' **awful**!"

His Captain was sympathetic, but unyielding. "So-o put your mask back on."

Kelly continued to plead his 'no go' case. "Bu-ut, Cap, the space is barely three blocks high—even less, with all the wires and pipes dangling down. I'm tellin' yah, there just ain't enough _room_ to be draggin' an air bottle around under there."

"Then I suggest you _hold your nose_," Stanley stubbornly stated. He and his senior paramedic disappeared from the open window, and resumed overhauling the living room.

Gage and Kelly traded distasteful glances and reluctantly returned to their assigned task.

John latched onto the back of Chet's turnout coat, just as he was about to reenter the extremely stinky crawl space. "Don't go anywhere," he requested. "I'll be right back." The paramedic scrambled to his feet and went jogging over to where Squad 51 was parked. He removed something from the truck's glove compartment, and then came trotting back up to his still kneeling—and still complaining—coworker. "Here…try some of this."

Kelly stared down at the little blue glass jar he'd just been handed—in complete and utter confusion. "Vi-icks?"

His companion nodded. "According to a couple a' guys from the County Coroner's Office, smearing a big gob of Vicks under your nose helps. I guess the camphor is supposed to blot out obnoxious odors…or something."

Chet stared disbelievingly, first at the little blue bottle…and then at his buddy. "Since _when_ do you hang out with guys from the _Coroner's Office_?"

"From time to time, Roy and I are called upon to perform welfare checks on people who haven't been heard from in awhile. Some of the folks we check up on ain't faring very well…if you get my drift."

Kelly's mustached face contorted into a grimace. Oh, he got Gage's 'drift' all right! "That's disgusting!"

Gage grunted in agreement. "Believe me, it _smells_ every bit as disgusting as it _sounds_."

Chet twisted the lid off. Then he pulled the leather glove from his right hand and dipped two of his fingers into the jar. The desperate fireman removed a big dollop of the little blue bottle's greasy, gooey contents and began smearing it under his nose.

Which prompted his companion to start snickering…again.

"_No-ow_ what's so funny?"

"It looks like…like you got a…a whole bunch a' boogers…on your mustache," Gage somehow got out, between giggles.

"Oh yeah? Well…just for that, _you_ get to go first, this time."

"You _gotta _go first."

"Why-y?"

"Because **you **are the only one who knows where the 'puddle a' puke' is."

Kelly looked even grumpier, but ceased his griping—for the moment. He offered the open jar to his grinning companion.

John took the jar but didn't dip into it.

"Aren't you going to put some on?"

"I, uh, thought I'd wait and see if it _works_, first."

"Great!" Chet grumbled beneath his breath, as he turned back toward the crawl space. "Gage just made me his guinea pig!"

* * *

The fireman reentered the 'hole from hell' and was just approaching the 'puddle a' puke', when the Vicks' vapors suddenly merged with the stomach-turning stench of 'putrificating flesh'. The poor man was overpowered by the gosh-awful smell—once again—and immediately began both to gag…a-and to retreat.

* * *

John watched as his friend came backing out of the hole he'd just crawled through.

"I should a'…known better…than to…trust you…and your Coroner friends…Gage," Kelly grouched, between bouts of gagging.

"I take it the Vicks didn't do a very good job of blotting out the obnoxious odor," Gage glumly surmised.

"It didn't help a bit! Only, no-ow, it smells like a cat—with a really bad cold—crawled under there and died!"

* * *

The sound of Gage giggling—and Kelly complaining—came wafting through the living room's open window.

If they were ever going to get out of there, Hank realized he was going to have to take 'matters' into his own hands. He exhaled a weary sigh and began heading for the front door.

* * *

The Captain was relieved to see that several members of the S.W.A.T. team were still on the scene. He straightened his sagging shoulders and went stepping up to them.

* * *

"Here yah go," Stanley told his two non-moving men, and handed each of them a gas mask.

"Gee…Thanks, Cap!"

"Yeah…Thanks, Cap!"

The two men stared down at their borrowed gas masks for a few moments and then turned to face each other. "What a _great_ idea!" the pair proclaimed, in unison.

"Of course it's a _great_ idea. All of my ideas are _great_." Hank directed his right index finger toward the crawl space's tiny opening. "**That** is why **I **am the _Captain_!"

The two men took their Captain's hint and immediately began donning their respective protective breathing apparatus.

"Oh…and…Kelly, try not to get any a' that _goop_ on the gas mask there, will yah, pal?"

"Right, Cap!" Chet assuredly shot back, and swiped the snotty-looking substance from his mustache, with the sleeve of his turnout coat. He snugged his gas mask's straps up and then eagerly disappeared back into the no longer 'raunchy' smelling crawl space.

"Where's that puke puddle?" John suddenly inquired, his anxious question somewhat muffled by his mask. "C'mon, Chet, where is it?" Gage asked again, before reluctantly following his friend's booted feet through the hole in the cement blocks. "Che-et?"

"Ain't payback a bitch?" came back Kelly's equally muffled reply.

Hank Stanley stood there for a few moments, smiling down at the now empty opening. It was beginning to look like they were _never_ gonna get outta there. The Captain gave his head a few quick shakes, and then went right back to work.

**The End**


	16. Chapter 16

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Sixteen: "Spills and Thrills"**

By Ross7

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. But, even 'The Galloping Greyhound' couldn't travel faster than the speed of sound. Which is what the exploding gas cloud, from an overturned tanker truck, was currently traveling at.

The blast's speeding and expanding shockwave quickly overtook the fleeing fireman and carried him along in its wake.

"Umph!" fireman/paramedic, John Gage, grunted, as a wall of compressed air rammed him from behind and sent him sailing across six lanes of California freeway.

* * *

Upon hearing Gage's shouted warning, Captain Hank Stanley, and the rest of Station 51's fire crew, had immediately taken shelter behind their respective rigs.

The crouching rescuers witnessed their fellow firefighter's 'unscheduled flight'.

51's crew continued to watch, from 'relative' safety, as their still-tumbling colleague's limp and lifeless body finally came to rest, in the shadow of an overpass pillar.

Four of the five firemen straightened up and started racing toward their fallen comrade.

The injured paramedic's partner began pulling their Squad's equipment compartments open.

* * *

Speaking of the injured paramedic…

Over the incessant '_ringing_' sound in his ears, John Gage could hear footsteps rapidly approaching his position.

His Captain was the first to reach him. "John! You okay, pal?" Hank anxiously inquired, dropping down onto the pavement beside the blast victim's twisted torso. Much to his amazement, the disheveled young man's brown eyes fluttered open. He grabbed the paramedic by his shoulders and prevented him from moving.

A huge, lopsided grin suddenly appeared on the displaced paramedic's face. "Ma-an!" Gage exclaimed, still sounding a bit breathless from his ordeal. "What a…cra-azy…wi-ild…ride!"

Hank released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and swapped relieved glances and smiles with his engine crew.

"He's obviously delirious," Mike Stoker insincerely assessed.

Marco Lopez's smile broadened a bit. "How can you possibly tell?"

"Good point, Marco!" Chet Kelly chimed in. "Gage exists in a _constant state_ of delirium."

Gage gave the taunting trio annoyed glares, but the grin never left his face.

The 'delirious' fireman's distraught partner finally came trotting up. "Johnny?" The late arrival lowered himself, and his heavy equipment cases, down to Johnny's level. The winded paramedic knelt there for a few moments, staring at his still-grinning buddy in both relief and disbelief—and confusion. "You **hurt** anywhere?"

His panting pal's grin broadened and he began to shake his head.

"Don't move!" DeSoto sternly ordered. The paramedic placed the palm of his left hand on top of his trauma victim's still-helmeted head and held it in place. "A simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice."

"No," his buddy obligingly replied. "I'm **not** hurt anywhere. The experiment appears to have worked."

'Possible head injury…' DeSoto promptly diagnosed, upon hearing his partner's nonsensical reply. "The…'experiment'?"

Gage was about to nod. But the hand clamped to his helmet forced him to reconsider. "Yeah. You know how we're always pulling plastered people out of completely crushed cars…and they never seem to have so much as a _scratch_ on 'em?"

All five of his firemen friends were forced to nod.

"Well, I just made like **I** was a **drunk driver**. I just kept telling myself to **relax**. Yah know, just 'roll with the punches'…an' 'go with the flow'."

DeSoto exchanged a dazed glance with each of his equally dumbstruck shiftmates.

Hank Stanley was the first to find his voice. "Yeah…well…There's an ambulance on the way. And, when it arrives, Roy, here, is gonna _roll_ you onto a gurney and _flow_ you on over to Rampart—where you will remain, until you have been cleared for duty."

The victim's grin had been replaced with a grimace. "Ah-uh, Cap—"

"—Just keep telling yourself to **relax**!" Stanley strongly urged—er, ordered, interrupting Gage, right in mid-gripe. Hank gave the glum paramedic's shoulders a couple of comforting pats. The Captain then climbed stiffly to his feet and turned to his engine crew. "Gentlemen, what d'yah say, we get back to work..."

Hank and his men started heading for Engine 51 and their hoses.

DeSoto began gathering his trauma victim's vitals.

John Gage gazed glumly up at the underside of the overpass. "Well," the paramedic grumbled, to nobody in particular, "it was fun...while it lasted."

Roy caught his 'wild and crazy' partner's quiet comment. 'Make that a **definite** head injury...'

**The End ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Seventeen: "The Recycle of Life"**

**By Ross7**

L.A. County Fire Department paramedics, John Gage and Roy DeSoto, climbed wordlessly up into the cab of their rescue squad.

Roy gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Prior to igniting the truck's engine, he turned to give his still-silent partner a concerned once over.

Johnny was just sitting there, staring straight ahead. Sweat had plastered his longer-than-regulation length hair to the sides of his face, and was causing his wavy black bangs to hang from his forehead in glistening ringlets.

Oh, yeah. His partner was hot, all right.

But it wasn't because he'd just set a new World's Record for scaling twelve flights of stairs in 90-degree heat. No, Johnny was hot because he'd just witnessed the senseless loss of something that was very precious to him—a life.

Roy kept his concerned gaze fixed upon his flustered friend. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No-o," his bummed buddy immediately shot back. But then he exhaled an exasperated gasp and changed his reply to, "Maybe..." John lowered his sweat-drenched head and stared sadly down at his lap. "I got there just as she was going over the ledge. I was able to grab onto her wrist. I told her, begged her, _pleaded_ with her to hold onto mine. But she wouldn't hold on. I could a' saved her, if she had just held on..."

Roy reached out and placed a comforting hand on his hurting friend's shoulder. "That girl had 'let go' long before you got to her, Johnny."

For the next few minutes, neither man spoke.

Finally, Gage glanced in DeSoto's direction. "Remember Cassie? That kid in that car wreck this morning?"

Roy's face filled with a profound sadness. He swallowed hard and managed a slight nod.

"She wouldn't let go of my hand. She held on right up til—" John's voice cracked, and his blurry gaze returned to his lap. "One girl refuses to 'let go'...another refuses to 'hold on'. One values life as the precious—sacred—gift that it is. One treats it as completely valueless...and throws it all away." The paramedic paused to clamp the lids down on his damp, brown eyes. "I...I just wish that there was some way that we could collect the life that is being thrown away...and put it in IV bags, or somethin'. So we could inject it into kids like Cassie. Yah know?"

"Yeah...I know," Roy assured him, his voice also sounding a bit shaky. "In the meantime...Speaking as someone who values **your** life very highly...The next time we get a jumper, I'd appreciate it, if you wouldn't lean so far over the ledge, like that. At least, not without being tied off. If your belt had been just one notch looser, you might a' lost your trousers...and I might a' lost **you**."

John's hanging head snapped up and swung in Roy's direction again. "You would've held on," he confidently predicted.

After all, they were partners. And partners **never** 'let go'.

Roy gave his now slightly smiling friend's left shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, before finally reaching for the key.


	18. Chapter 18

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Eighteen: "Batting Zero"**

In the rec' room of Los Angeles County Fire Station 51, six firemen sat huddled in front of a TV set, watching the Dodgers and the Padres battling it out in the first game of a double-header.

They cheered, as Dodger's pitcher, Don Sutton, struck out the Padres—one, two, three.

The Dodgers came to bat.

First baseman, Steve Garvey, hit a single.

Outfielder, Dave Lopes, also singled.

Sutton walked.

With the bases loaded—and no outs—Dodger slugger, Dusty Baker, stepped up to the plate.

"There's the wind up...and the pi—" the game's announcer began, only to be drowned out by the Station's alarm.

There was a group groan.

"**Squad 51...**" the dispatcher declared, and the Station's engine crew relaxed.

Paramedics John Gage and Roy DeSoto groaned again and started heading for the garage.

"Got it, Cap!" Gage called back over his shoulder.

"Thanks!" Stanley acknowledged, and settled back into his seat.

* * *

"**Child down...Wonder Wheels Park...Three and one half miles east on Dart Lane...Then two and a quarter miles south on Ridgeway Road...Take the first left on Coolidge...It's the fourth driveway on the right...Caller advises you go in the second gate..."**

"Squad 51. Got it, L.A.," John acknowledged, when he finished his jotting.

"**10-4, Squad 51**..." a rather relieved dispatcher came back. "**Ambulance responding...Time out...17:03**"

"Squad 51. KMG-365," the fireman further acknowledged. He replaced the radio, snatched up their copy of the call slip and raced around the rescue squad. "We'll start with east on Dart Lane," he proposed, piling into the passenger's seat and pulling on his helmet.

His partner nodded his approval of the plan.

* * *

Eight minutes of masterful map-reading later, DeSoto drove through the second gate at Wonder Wheels Park and cut their truck's sirens.

"**Squad 51...cancel**," their radio announced.

Squad 51's occupants stared down at the dashboard in disbelief.

"We may as well check it out," Roy determined. "After all the trouble we went through to get here."

Gage nodded in agreement and grabbed the mic'. "L.A., Squad 51. We are at the scene and intend to follow through with the call."

"**Roger that, 51...**"

DeSoto parked the Squad at the edge of an enormous concrete lot. He and his partner exited the cab and started strolling off in the direction of a movie crew, filming skateboarding stunts.

* * *

The firemen watched—in wide-eyed fascination—as a young, female skateboarder went flying off the end of a three foot ramp, spun twice around and landed gracefully back onto the lot—still on her skateboard!

Seeing as how they were being completely ignored, Roy cleared his throat and queried, "Did somebody call the Fire Department?"

"I'm okay. Honest!" the teen insisted, as she came rolling up. "It's just a little 'road rash'," she added, and pointed to her scraped and bleeding knees.

"You sure you're not seriously hurt?" Gage grilled the girl.

The little lady rolled her eyes and motioned towards the concrete lot. "Did that look like I was seriously hurt?"

"Looks can be deceiving," Roy reminded her. "Why don't we check you out real quick...just to be sure."

The film's director stepped between the paramedics and his star. "If the kid says she's okay—she's okay! Pam's a pro!"

The thirteen-year-old nodded, defiantly.

"You didn't hit your head, did you?" Roy's still-worried partner wondered.

Pam gave Gage another roll of her eyes and shook her pretty little head 'no'.

John sighed. "Well...since you won't let us examine you...I...uh...guess we'll be getting back to the Station. And you can get back to..." he glanced down at the skateboard, "...that."

The girl gave herself a push and went rolling off across the lot.

"Shouldn't she be wearing a helmet?" DeSoto, the dad, wondered aloud.

Pamela's Producer completely ignored the pesky paramedic. "All right, Kiddo! How about a backward somersault with a reverse handstand?"

The young 'pro' picked up speed.

The two firemen exchanged alarmed looks and then watched, in amazement, as Pam flipped herself back over into a somersault.

The little lady landed in a crouched position, threw her feet up into the air and went gliding by—standing on her hands! As she turned her board around and went sailing by for a second time, she flashed the camera a beautiful, upside-down smile.

The paramedics released their held breaths and began heading for their rescue squad.

* * *

"If this is a sample of what people are gonna be doing at Wonder Wheels Park," Gage grumbled, "something tells me we're gonna be coming here quite often."

"After a week or two," DeSoto glumly concurred, "we'll know the way by heart."

The rescuers climbed back into their truck's cab.

John thumbed their dash-mounted radio's mic'. "L.A., Squad 51 available. Returning to quarters."

"**Roger, 51...**"

* * *

DeSoto backed the Squad into Station 51's parking bay.

The paramedic team piled out and sprinted into the rec' room.

* * *

"What happened after we left?" Gage asked the guys, who were still huddled in front of the television, watching the game.

No one answered til a commercial came on.

Then Chet turned and said, "You had to see it to believe it, Gage."

"See what?" the impatient paramedic prompted.

Kelly completely ignored the question and continued, "I mean, it was really amazing! Right, Cap?"

"Huh? " Stanley stammered, not turning his gaze from the TV's screen. "Oh. Yeah. It was amazing. Absolutely!"

Gage gasped in exasperation and turned to Stoker. "What happened, Mike?"

"Dusty Baker hit a grand-slam homerun!" the Engineer obligingly replied. "I can't remember who else did what. But the Dodgers got ten runs in the second inning!"

"We missed it!" John lamented. "For a lousy cancelled call, we missed it!"

The sportscaster came back on and announced the score.

"Twelve to nothin'? How one-sided can you get?" the peeved paramedic declared and turned to leave.

"Where yah goin'?" his partner pondered.

"To work on the log book," Gage glumly replied. "It's bound to be more exciting."

His shiftmates glanced at one another…and grinned.

**TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

"EMERGENCY! Moments in Time"

**Chapter Nineteen:** "**Payback Ain't **_**Always**_** A Bitch" **

By Ross7

**"Station 51…unknown type rescue…2101 North Cherokee Lane…Cross street: Philips…Two-one-zero-one North Cherokee Lane…Time Out: 13:08."**

"Station 51," Captain Stanley acknowledged. "KMG-365." Hank replaced the mic', and passed his paramedics a copy of the call slip. Then he jogged off across the garage, and scrambled up into the cab of the Engine, pulling his turnout coat and helmet on, as he did so.

Both firetrucks' engines were brought to life.

The emergency vehicles rolled out of their parking bays and went racing off down the street, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

* * *

Station 51 reached the call site, a mere eight minutes later.

2101 North Cherokee Lane turned out to be an enormous two and a half-storied estate, surrounded by rambling lawns, and bordered by 12-foot tall privacy fences.

* * *

The firemen piled out of their respective trucks and hurried up onto the home's front porch.

The Captain rang the doorbell, banged the brass doorknocker and shouted. "Fire Department! Open up!"

But nobody came to the door.

So Hank rang, banged and shouted again.

Still nothing.

Stanley exhaled a weary sigh. "I hate these 'unknown type' rescues. We never know what we might have." He tried the knob.

The door was locked.

Hank gasped again and raised his HT to his lips. "L.A., Station 51. Request address check on our last call. Two-one-zero-one _North_ Cherokee Lane?"

"**Affirmative, 51."**

"10-4, L.A….51 out." The Captain pocketed his hand-held radio and turned to address his men. "Stoker, Lopez, check the left side. Gage, Kelly, check the back. Roy, come with me, pal."

The two-man teams disappeared—in their assigned directions.

* * *

Gage and Kelly made their way to the back of the building.

They reached a fenced in backyard and paused to unlatch a big wooden gate. The pair pulled the heavy portal open, entered the spacious backyard and started trotting toward the estate's rear entrance.

Suddenly, from somewhere behind them, a big dog began to bark.

The firemen spun around.

A vicious-looking—and ferocious-sounding—big, black Doberman was barreling toward them.

The two men made a mad dash for the gate.

But the angry mutt quickly changed its course and cut them off.

Gage skidded to a halt, grabbed his companion's arm and headed for the nearest tree—at a dead run!

* * *

The two fleeing firemen literally flew up into the branches of a majestic maple, arms and legs frantically flailing for higher—and more secure—hand and footholds.

Somehow, the pair managed to pull themselves up out of reach of the demon dog's snapping jowls.

The breathless rescuers clung to the tree's eight-inch trunk—for dear life.

"Chet-tu-kow-ee-mon-ti-ne-sta!" John Gage exclaimed, once he'd gotten a bit of his breath back.

Chet Kelly gave his companion a strange stare. "You wanna run that past me again, Chief?" he jokingly inquired, over the sound of ferocious barking, vicious snarling—and snapping jaws.

"You run like a deer," John translated.

"**You** might a' ran like a deer," Chet acknowledged. He gazed down at the dog's enormous bared teeth and swallowed—hard. "**I** ran more like a scared rabbit!"

Gage grinned. Then he glanced around, and his mood quickly sobered. "How we gonna get outta here?"

Kelly looked thoughtful, and then equally glum.

There didn't appear to **be** a 'dignified' way out of their dilemma.

Or was there?

Kelly caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. He tugged on the sleeve of Gage's turnout coat and then pointed to the 12-foot tall privacy fence, that completely encompassed the enormous home's equally enormous backyard.

John turned his helmeted head and spotted a small white cat, walking along the top of the fence.

The Doberman spotted it, too. The dog left the two intruders treed and went tearing after the little white kitty.

Gage and Kelly shimmied down the tree, dropped to the ground and went barreling off across the backyard lawn.

* * *

They barged through the gate and immediately slammed it shut.

Just in time, too!

The thing almost jerked off its hinges, as the Doberman threw itself against it, barking, growling, snarling and snapping—ferociously!

The two breathless firemen fell back against the gate, exhaling long sighs of relief.

"I've heard stories about **firemen** rescuing _cats _out of trees," Kelly confessed. "But this has gotta be the first case of a **cat** rescuing _firemen_!"

The two 'rescued' firemen turned to face each other, and traded grins.

Captain Stanley came stomping up to them. "Where have you guys been? And what was all that racket?"

Gage and Kelly glanced at one another again, and exchanged a couple of 'We'll never tell' looks.

Chet turned back to their obviously annoyed Commander. "They, uhhh, keep a little doggy in the backyard, Cap."

Upon hearing his companion's gross understatement, the paramedic had to purse his lips.

Just then, the gate jerked again, as the weight of the 'little doggy' threatened, once more, to unhinge it.

The Captain stared at the panting pair, now looking slightly amused. "C'mon, gentlemen! We got in, through a window on the east side. The house is completely empty. There's no 'rescue', here. _Unknown type_, or otherwise."

Gage and Kelly watched the little white cat jump down from the top of the fence and go trotting regally off.

"Or 'otherwise'?" John mumbled beneath his breath. He and Chet swapped grins again.

The still-panting pair gave the gate a 'good riddance' glance and then followed their Captain back over to their waiting trucks.

**The End**


	20. Chapter 20

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

Chapter Twenty: **"Just Mopping Up"**

**By Ross7**

Firefighter, John Gage, was working beside his paramedic partner, Roy DeSoto, in the parking bay of Los Angeles County's Fire Station 51.

Both men were busy cleaning the garage's soiled cement floor.

John had just finished rinsing and wringing. He hoisted the heavy cotton deck mop up out of the galvanized metal tub's wringer and then paused to study the wet concrete in front of his feet. "Yah know, I think the floor is actually getting dirtier. Maybe we should change the water..."

DeSoto glanced back. They were almost to the rec' room doorway. "We only have a few more feet to go. We might as well finish."

Gage gazed disgustedly down at his filthy floor mop. "Hard to believe this thing was actually white, a mere fifteen minutes ago. Now it's sort a' the same color as Mrs. Pennington's wig."

"How do you know that wasn't her real hair?"

"Because it became...dislodged...in the back of the ambulance, while I was inserting an airway. I had a heck of a time getting it...resituated."

DeSoto flashed the unwilling hair-stylist a sympathetic smile.

Suddenly, the garage door began grinding its way up, announcing the return of Station 51's Engine Crew.

"Perfect timing!" DeSoto determined and gave the garage floor a final swipe.

* * *

Gage watched Stoker back Big Red into its parking spot. "Wow! You guys have been gone quite a while," he realized, following a quick glance at his wristwatch. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"The same thing you've been doing," Captain Hank Stanley calmly replied, as he came around the front of the firetruck. "Mopping up." Hank couldn't help but notice that the cleaned garage was half empty. "Where's the Squad?"

"Seems C-Shift is still tied up at that brushfire in Messina Canyon," Roy informed him.

Marco Lopez exchanged 'looks' with his fellow lineman, Chet Kelly. "So, while we've been out working, you guys have been just sitting around here all morning?"

The paramedics exchanged 'looks' of their own.

"We, uh, managed to keep busy," Gage grossly understated, prompting an eye roll from his partner.

Chet eyed the dark-haired paramedic—and his mop—for a few moments. Then he turned back to Marco and taunted, "Well, what d'yah know! Gage finally found a dance partner skinnier than he is."

"Feel free to 'cut in'," John shot back and chased Chet into the dayroom with the filthy end of his floor mop.

The rest of the firemen followed them into the rec' room/dining area, en route to the Station's coffee pot.

* * *

Since Engine 51 had been called out before morning roll could be completed, Hank still hadn't handed out the Station's work assignments. "Gage, see about getting some grub—" Hank paused, right in mid-command.

Lunch was already laid out for them, right there on the kitchen table.

The Captain turned to his paramedics, looking duly impressed.

The pair pretended not to notice.

Stanley couldn't help but grin. "Gentlemen, let's get washed up and eat. And after lunch, we can start with the chores. Mike, you get the dorm. Marco, the dayroom. Chet, the latrine. Roy, you and John get to work on the log."

"Done. Done. Done. And done," DeSoto triumphantly declared. "Everything's already been done, Cap...with the exception of hanging hose."

"We'd a' done that, too," Gage announced. "But you guys took off with the hose."

The Captain exchanged amazed glances with his engine crew. "I, uh, guess you have been 'keeping busy'..."

"Just mopping up a little," Roy casually remarked.

Hank and his men rolled their eyes and started heading for the washroom.

DeSoto and his 'mopping' partner swapped a couple of wry, sly smiles, and then followed their friends out into the garage—er, the clean garage.

The End


	21. Chapter 21

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-One:** "**Imagine That"**

By Ross7

"That's it!" Captain Hank Stanley encouraged his engine crew, as they fought desperately to douse the unseen flames that were licking at their air-masked faces.

Hank was in the midst of conducting yet another **un**popular training drill.

"Watch out!" the fire officer warned the three L.A. County firefighters, who were currently crawling across Station 51's paved parking lot, with charged hoses in their hands. "The fire's breaking out behind you!"

Two of the men immediately redirected their unopened nozzles.

"You need to **constantly** be aware of your surroundings!" the Captain continued to coach. "A situation can be safe, one second, and unsafe, the next! Anticipate trouble!"

The hose-hauling trio reached the lot's far brick wall and halted.

"How'd we do?" Mike Stoker queried.

"Yeah," Chet Kelly chimed in. "Did we get the imaginary fire out, Cap?"

"Yes," Stanley assured them. "You got the fire out. Unfortunately, your two-dimensional thinking has landed you all in the hospital. Because the ceiling just collapsed."

His guys glanced skyward. Then they turned to one another and emitted a muffled group groan.

Chet turned to one of his glum chums. "Hey, Marco. When an imaginary ceiling falls on you, does it make a sound?"

Lopez's only reply to his friend's riddle was to roll his eyes.

Kelly suddenly looked a tad less gloomy. "Maybe we should look on the bright side? If we're all trapped under a pile of imaginary rubble, we won't have to 'pretend' to put out any more of these stupid 'imaginary' fires."

Mike and Marco pursed their lips.

Hank directed his attention toward his complaining crewman. "I heard that, Kelly."

Kelly's eyes took on a mischievous glint and his mustache twitched—twice. "You _sure_ 'bout that, Cap? I mean, maybe you just 'imagined' you heard it…"

Stanley gave his wisecracking crewman a no-nonsense glare. "Right now, I'm imagining _you_ having latrine duty next shift."

Kelly's amused look vanished. "Ah-uh, Cap—"

"—The next two shifts," Hank quickly cut in.

Chet wisely chose to _close_ his smart mouth.

When their Captain was mad, he could get pretty gosh-darn 'imaginative'.

**The End**


	22. Chapter 22

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Two:** **"'**_**Clunk'**_**"**

Roy DeSoto stepped out of Station 51's locker room and into the garage. The fireman made it to about the midway point in the apparatus bay, and then halted.

A pair of legs was protruding out from under the passenger's side of their rescue squad, directly in front of the truck's rear tire.

The puzzled paramedic promptly changed his course and went sauntering over to them. "What are you doing under there?"

John Gage rolled out from under the truck. He had an annoyed look on his grease-smeared face, and an adjustable wrench in each of his greasy hands. "I told you. I heard a '_clunk_'."

'Ahhh…yes. The phantom '_clunk_'.'

"Sounded just like the sort a' '_clunk_' a universal joint makes—just before it goes." His interrupted partner completed his explanation and rolled back out of sight.

Roy suppressed a smile and his right eyebrow arched in thought. "The universal joint, huh? We should probably give Charley a call."

His partner came rolling back out. "We can't call _Charley_."

"Why not? He's the Department's mechanic. If we can't call _him_, who else _can_ we call?"

"Ro-oy, if we call Charley, he's gonna wanna know why **we** _broke_ 'his' _precious_ squad."

"It's nobody's fault. Universal joints wear out all the time."

"You know that and I know that. But good ole Charley'll find a way to blame **us** for it, anyway," Gage glumly determined and disappeared under the truck again.

There followed a great deal of '_clunk_'ing and '_clank_'ing.

Roy could no longer contain his curiosity. "So-o…Is there a lot a' play in the universal joint?"

"It's not the U-joint," John announced, as he came sliding out from under the truck, for the third time in as many minutes.

DeSoto flashed his floored friend a slightly amused look. "That '_clunk_' you heard was prob'ly just the sound of your 'train of thought'…derailing."

Gage gave his buddy back a 'ha ha very funny glare'. "Remember that overgrown pasture we plowed through, on that last call?"

Roy managed a thoughtful nod.

"Well, we now have a big hunk a' barbed wire wrapped around our drive-shaft."

"Barb wire?" 'Chet'll prob'ly want a chunk for his collection...'

"Since you're already standing, kin you fetch me a pair a' wire cutters?"

"Sure." DeSoto did an about face and headed off in the direction of their tool cart. 'So-o, there really **was** a '_clunk_'. Who'd a' thunk?'

**The End**


	23. Chapter 23

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Three: "The Road Less Traveled"**

"This must be the proverbial 'Road Less Traveled,'" Roy wittily remarked, following a full fifteen monotonous minutes of driving down a dusty, country lane—at the whopping speed of between five and ten miles per hour.

"This has gotta be the road least traveled," his grimacing passenger quickly corrected. "I just hope we don't meet any oncoming traffic, or somebody's transmission is gonna be spendin' a lot a' time in reverse."

The road was just a single lane—barely that, in places—and they hadn't seen a turnaround in the past ten tedious miles.

The rescue truck's occupants had both of its windows wound up tight, and all of its air vents closed. Still, some of the stirred up dust was finding its way into the cab—and Johnny began to cough. "Sheesh! _*hack hack*_ Shouldn't we have reached the highway by now? _*hack hack*_ This is really getting ridiculous!"

"Could be worse," Roy reminded him.

"Oh yeah?" Gage glanced in his optimistic partner's direction, looking deeply skeptical. "How so...exactly?"

"You could be sittin' with Chet and Marco back there—right out in the open. I'll bet those two are really chokin' on the dust. In fact, Mike's prob'ly gonna hafta stop pretty quick, just so they can don their airpacks." The driver smiled, seeing that he'd finally managed to coax a slightly crooked grin from his grumpy passenger.

Johnny's grin faded fast, however. "Man! I can't imagine why anybody would wanna build way back in there. Can you? I mean, no phone...no electricity...no running water...no indoor plumbing—" the fireman suddenly recalled the reason they were summoned to the god-for-saken call site, in the first place, "—no outdoor plumbing, either. Least ways, not until they can get their new latrine built."

Several of his partner's latest remarks had raised Roy's eyebrows. "You're kiddin'. Right? I mean, I figured a place like _that_ would be right up your alley."

"Maybe if it was on the bank of a trout stream...or on a beautiful mountainside...or on the beach of some secluded little lake," John conceded. "But _that_ place is out in the middle of the middle of nowhere—completely surrounded by nothin'—but dust," he added and promptly began hacking again on the powder-fine particles that were continuously invading their hot and stuffy vehicle. "How in the hell does an outhouse catch on fire, anyway?_ *hack hack*_ Was Cap able to determine the source of combustion?"

"He told me he talked to the guy's wife. Apparently, she's been after her husband, for years, to build her an indoor bathroom. Cap figures it was a clear case of arson." Roy suddenly recalled hearing about a certain hat-burning incident. The corners of his mouth turned up and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "And our Captain knows a-all about _arson_."

The Squad's occupants exchanged glances and grins.

Then Johnny commenced chuckling—and choking. "Are we _*hack hack*_ _there_ yet?"

**The End**


	24. Chapter 24

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Four: "Keeping Score"  
**

Roy DeSoto heard the alarming sound of squealing brakes and tires and snapped his helmeted head around just in time to watch an 'inattentive driver' plow into the mangled vehicle his partner was currently working in.

Of course, that's not how the fireman referred to the jerk on the scene. That's just what the paramedic would later put down on his written report of the 'unfortunate incident'.

* * *

Los Angeles County's Fire Station 51 had responded to a 'vehicle accident with injuries' at the intersection of Howe and Pruitt.

The dispatcher's antiseptic description of the call did not prepare the rescuers for the gruesome site that greeted them upon their arrival.

Two cars, of unrecognizable make and model, had collided in the center of the busy intersection and then four more vehicles had proceeded to plow into _them_.

Over the sound of creaking metal, and steam escaping from leaking radiators, the firemen could hear muffled moaning and groaning.

Half of 51's engine crew began popping crumpled car hoods and disconnecting battery cables.

The other half went to work hosing down fuel spills.

The paramedics set their heavy equipment cases down in the street and started 'triaging' their accident victims.

* * *

Johnny had deposited his helmet on the roof of one of the crushed cars and then gained access to its groaning occupant by crawling in through its shattered windshield.

He'd heard the ominous 'squealing', too. In fact, it was the last sound he heard—before the sudden impact spun the vehicle he was in violently around, causing his un-helmeted head to come into forceful contact with a steel doorpost.

* * *

The next thing the groggy rescuer knew, he was lying stretched out on the pavement and somebody was shining a bright light in his eyes. "Ohhh-ohhh…"

"Welcome back," a vaguely familiar voice greeted him. "What's your name?"

Gage actually considered answering the ridiculous question—for an instant. But then the infernal _pounding_ in the right side of his head took precedence. "Ow-ow…"

"Okay then. What's _my_ name?"

"Ro-oy?"

"You asking me? Or telling me?"

"Roy," the prone paramedic replied, with a tad more confidence. "Can I get up now?" he pitifully inquired, and attempted to rise.

"Not until you can tell me what MICU stands for."

"Am I _what_?" John dazedly demanded and was immediately shoved back down onto his bright yellow drop sheet.

* * *

Chet Kelly retrieved his dropped reel line and returned to his task. "Roy wins Round One—by a unanimous decision?" he queried, and shot his crewmates a questioning glance.

The guys grinned and nodded.

* * *

A few seconds later…

Gage's groggy head suddenly rolled in DeSoto's direction and then raised up off the pavement. "Man! It's Certainly Unusual?"

His partner, who was now on their Bio-phone, waiting for a reply from Rampart, pursed his lips and simply shook his head.

Gage emitted an exasperated gasp and obediently settled back onto his drop sheet bed.

* * *

Mike Stoker glanced up from his engine gauges. "Round Two definitely goes to DeSoto, too," he determined aloud.

Marco Lopez directed his hose's stream under another leaking gas tank. "Maybe," he admitted. "But Gage should at least score a couple a' points for _originality_." He and his shiftmates swapped smiles.

* * *

Five foggy, groggy minutes later…

The prone paramedic's glum expression suddenly brightened and he propped himself up on his elbows. "Mobile Intensive Care Unit!" he loudly—and quite proudly—exclaimed.

Almost as if they'd been 'summoned', both of 36's paramedics suddenly appeared at his sides.

"No. No. You don't understand," Johnny protested, as he was promptly shoved back down—again. "My partner said that, if I could tell him what MICU stands for, I could get up."

"I see-ee," one of his colleagues pensively stated. "I don't know how to tell you this, Gage, but…your partner _lied_."

John's bottom jaw fell open and all the 'fight' went right out of him.

Roy flashed his frowning friend a bashful grin and his shoulders arched upward, in an innocent shrug. "What can I say? It was the only way I could think of, to get **you** to hold that 'hard' head of yours _still _for me."

It was a damn good excuse for the deception.

But his betrayed partner apparently remained slightly peeved with him. "Oh yeah? Well, I'd rather be hard _headed_, than hard **nosed**."

* * *

51's Captain overheard the exchange and traded grins with his engine crew. "John should prob'ly score a couple a' points for _that_ crack, too."

"Yeah," Chet Kelly concurred. "But Roy still wins the match."

The guys' grins broadened.

'We _all_ do,' Hank Stanley silently—and rather relievedly—realized. "We _all_ do," the Captain repeated, speaking just beneath his breath.

**The End**


	25. Chapter 25

"Emergency! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Five: "Saving Face"**

Stoker and DeSoto backed their respective trucks into their respective parking spaces in Station 51's apparatus bay.

The vehicles' engines were killed, their doors were opened and their exhausted occupants began stepping down and out.

The firemen had spent the past several hours battling a blazing propane fire and were now feeling—and looking—the worse for wear.

Stoker climbed stiffly down from his engine and then stood there, staring glumly out the garage's open portal, at the inclement weather they'd just driven through. "The rain is really picking up again. Just like it did last Saturday…when it put out my barbecue grill…and then washed all the tartar sauce off of the steaks."

The firemen flashed their glum chum some sooty, sympathetic smiles.

The heavy garage door gradually ground its way back down, blocking the depressing torrential downpour from the engineer's view.

"Speaking of barbecued," Chet Kelly came around the front of the engine and then stopped, less than a foot in front of his Captain, to stare up at the bay's ceiling. "Is my face red?"

Stanley studied Kelly's concern-filled face carefully. "I dunno. It's too dirty to really tell."

Chet swiped his hands over his sweaty face a few times and succeeded in removing some of the soot.

Hank took another gander at his crewman's grimy countenance. "Looks like you were standing a little too close to the fire, pal." Seeing that Kelly was dissatisfied with his diagnosis, the Captain summoned his paramedic team over. "John! Roy! You wanna check out Chet's face," he ordered more than asked.

The two men had been heading for the washroom. They immediately redirected their course and crossed over to Kelly, to 'check out' his face.

The paramedics stared at Kelly's face for several seconds, looking very intent.

"Yeah. Yeah. That's a face, all right," Gage was finally forced to concede.

"And only a mother could love it," DeSoto contributed, breaking into a broad grin.

The guys all snickered.

Well, everybody but the face's owner, that is. "C'mon, you guys. This is serious. Is it red? Or isn't it?"

Gage wiped the grin off of _his _face and then gave Kelly's a much closer and more careful examination, tipping it up to the light at various angles. "By golly, it _is_ red, Roy," he solemnly announced. "And, unless he's blushing, I'd say he's suffering from some E.E. to some I.H.. Wouldn't you?"

DeSoto thought his partner's cryptic comment over for a few moments, then he pursed his lips and nodded solemnly in agreement.

"I thought so," Johnny smugly declared. Then he turned around and started heading back toward the washroom.

Kelly directed his extremely anxious gaze toward the remaining paramedic. "What the heck is _tha-at_?"

"**E**xcessive **E**xposure to **I**ntense **H**eat," Roy obligingly replied. Then he arched an eyebrow and began taking his leave, as well. "I think…"

The red-faced fireman's friends filed silently past him, also en route to soap bars and sinks.

Captain Stanley stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "I think what they're tying to say is…you were standing a little too close to the fire, pal."

Kelly's mustached face scrunched up a might...and then suddenly turned even redder.

**The End**


	26. Chapter 26

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time":

**Chapter Twenty-Six:** "**Determination Is A Two-way Street"**

He wondered how and when his fall would come to a stop.

If the 'when' was _before_ the slack was taken up in his lifeline, the 'how' was going to be _badly_…very, **very** _badly_.

The '_twang_' of the nylon rope being pulled taut was closely followed by a '_grunt_' of agony, as the falling rescuer received a sort a' lifebelt version of the Heimlich Maneuver.

In that same instant, the sheer rock wall that had been rushing past his face suddenly lunged out to meet him…or, was he lunging toward it? Whichever it was, the breathless fireman instinctively lifted his legs and used his booted feet to prevent his body from being splattered up against it—like a bug on a windshield.

"Johnny?" his friend frantically called out, as he came rappelling down the ridiculously steep cliff. "Johnny, are you okay?" Roy anxiously repeated, when his partner failed to acknowledge him.

"Yeah!" Gage gasped back, once his burning lungs got going again. "Just got my 'wind'…knocked out a' me…is all. What happened…with our jumper?"

DeSoto gazed disbelievingly at his dangling buddy. "Didn't _you_ see?"

Gage placed a gloved hand up against the rock wall, to keep himself from spinning around, and returned the look. "_Plunging to your death_ can be a little 'distracting'."

His friend managed a fleeting smile. "We-ell, right after he kicked _you_ off the cliff…he jumped."

Gage winced. "Guess when someone's that _determined_ to die, there's just **no** stoppin' 'em…"

"**Engine 51 to HT 51…Would one of you care to **_**share**_** what's going on up there?"** their Captain anxiously requested—er, ordered. A large rock outcropping was concealing his paramedic team from his view.

Roy unclipped their handheld radio from his belt and raised it to his lips. "HT 51 to Engine 51…You're not gonna believe this. But Johnny's okay, Cap. Claims he just had his 'wind' knocked out of him…"

"**You're kidding!"** their Captain quickly came back, his voice an equal mixture of relief and disbelief. **"We thought he was a goner—for sure!"**

Roy stared thoughtfully down at their radio for a few moments and then thumbed its send button once again. "Guess when someone's that _determined_ to live, there's just **no** stoppin' 'em…" The paramedic locked gazes with his _determined_ partner, and the two of them traded grins.

**The End**


	27. Chapter 27

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Seven:** "**One Track Mind"**

He only had one thought. 'I am _not_ going to die here, today!'

L.A. County firefighter/paramedic, John Gage, had been performing a routine sweep of a burning apartment building's ground floor, when the flaming structure's second floor suffered a 'lean to' collapse.

When exposed to temperatures in excess of 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit, steel beams can actually become weaker than wooden beams.

The intense heat had warped the steel beams beneath the second story's floor, causing them to pull away from their outside support columns.

The second floor's outside edge had fallen onto the first floor, effectively sealing off any access to the windows. Its inside edge remained attached to the support column that ran along the top of the hall wall…for now. The whole hallway was a complete inferno.

The sweeper found himself in a pitch black, now burning apartment, cut off from escape—on all sides.

If the firefighter was going to live, he would have to leave.

Fortunately, Gage had remembered to grab a fire axe before heading into the building. He would use _it_ to create an escape hatch where none existed.

The trapped fireman aimed the beam of his flashlight, about knee level, at the wall to the apartment next door, and went to work.

"I…" _*thwack!*_ "am **not**…" _*thwack!* _"going to…" _*thwack!* _"die here…" _*thwack!*_ "today!" John determinedly declared, between blows.

* * *

A half-dozen more '_whacks_' with the axe, and a respectable opening had appeared in the wall.

The paramedic peered into the neighboring apartment.

No light meant no windows.

'Damn!'

The floor collapse had extended to that apartment, too.

'Oh well…' He would just have to create _another_ escape hatch.

The rescuer loosened the straps on his SCBA and slid its air tank under his left arm. He dropped his fire axe into the next apartment. Then he picked up his light and ducked into the dark void, himself.

* * *

The paramedic slid his air pack back in place and retrieved his tool. Then he crossed the pitch-black apartment, stepped up to the next adjoining wall, and repeated the entire process.

"I…" _*thwack!*_ "am **not**…" _*thwack!* _"going to…" _*thwack!* _"die here…" _*thwack!*_ "today!" the breathless rescuer confidently reiterated.

Unfortunately, the floor collapse had also managed to reach the next apartment, as well.

* * *

The paramedic stepped across the third blackened apartment and began '_whack_ing' away at yet _another_ wall, repeating his staunch mantra the entire time. "I…" _*thwack!*_ "am **not**…" _*thwack!* _"going to…" _*thwack!* _"die here…" _*thwack!*_ "today!"

The fire was now coming through the hall wall.

The question now was, would he be able to make it out from under the 'lean to' floor collapse **before** the hall wall entirely disintegrated?

John ducked down to take a little look through the newest 'escape hatch' he'd created. A grin filled his masked face. He'd finally reached the end of the floor collapse.

Light was streaming into the neighboring apartment—and windows meant a _way out_!

He '_whack_ed' away at the hole until it was large enough for him to duck through.

Just as John stepped into the next apartment, the hall wall that had been holding the second floor's floor up crumbled, turning the 'lean to' collapse into a 'pancake' collapse.

'Talk about cutting it close!' the paramedic mused, on his way over to the windows.

His SCBA's 'low air' alarm began to sound.

The fireman removed his facemask and quickly unclipped his air tank. Then he slipped it from his shoulders and tossed it through the nearest window. He used his axe to bust the remaining sharp shards of glass from the window's frame and then climbed out of the burning building—before the rest of the second floor could come toppling down on him.

* * *

Hank Stanley stared in disbelief, as his missing crewman came climbing out of the apartment building and then collapsed, face first, onto the concrete walkway. "Roy! Over here!" he shouted out and went running up to the paramedic's motionless partner.

* * *

"John!" the Captain exclaimed, relief evident in his voice. "You okay, pal?" he anxiously inquired and carefully rolled his fallen crewman over onto his back.

John was breathing too hard to speak. So he simply nodded.

The rest of 51's concerned crew arrived, also at a run.

His Captain remained completely stymied. "How the hell did you ever manage to make it outta there?"

Gage grinned and held up his fire axe. "The saw…that always…starts," he breathlessly replied.

His fellow firefighters glanced at one another, and then returned his grin.

**The End**


	28. Chapter 28

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: "Coming To Terms"**

Dixie McCall heard two sets of footsteps approaching her Nurses' Station and glanced up from her medical charts, to see who was coming.

It was her two favorite firemen.

The corners of her mouth started to turn upward. But then she caught the two paramedics' long faces, and her own instantly filled with concern. "Bad one?"

"It wasn't good," Johnny Gage solemnly said. "Young kid. Victim of a hit and run. We don't know if we got to him in time…"

Dixie gazed sympathetically at her forlorn friends and determined that she would try to bolster their sagging spirits. "Hey, you guys remember Terra Ferguson?"

Roy's gloomy countenance immediately brightened. "The lady with the twins who got into the Comet cleanser. Right?"

"Right!" the RN replied. She put her paperwork down and pulled some photographs from a cubbyhole below the counter. "Seems the twins just turned two. She sent us some pictures of their birthday party."

DeSoto eagerly accepted the stack of 4x4 photographs she proffered to them and he and his partner began looking through them.

"Ahhh…the terrible twos," Gage surmised and couldn't help but grin and giggle at the amusing photographs.

The two babies had managed to stick cake everywhere—but in their mouths.

* * *

A grief-stricken woman exited Exam Three. She saw her nephew's rescuers leaning against the counter at the ER's nearest Nurses' Station, looking at pictures and having a high old time. Her watering eyes flashed with anger and she went stomping up to them. "Not that it matters to you," she snidely remarked to the dark-haired one, who had accompanied the injured boy in the ambulance, "but Nathan just _died_!"

The amused looks immediately disappeared from the two paramedics' faces.

"I'm…sorry to hear that," J. GAGE, PARAMEDIC quietly said.

"Johnny and I are both real sorry," R. DESOTO, PARAMEDIC sadly assured her.

Nathan's auntie looked extremely skeptical. "Yeah. I could see how 'broken up' you were," she sarcastically said and motioned to the pictures the pair had just been enjoying.

The forlorn looks returned to the two firemens' faces. They passed Dixie back her photos and sadly walked away.

The dead boy's aunt turned to the remaining ER nurse, looking completely disgusted. "How does someone like **that**, ever get involved in _his_ line of work in the first place?"

Dixie completed counting to ten and then locked gazes with the poor, misguided woman. "I may get fired for saying this. But, right now, I really don't give a damn." She paused, to quickly count to ten, again. "Those two guys have got to be two of the most 'caring' paramedics there are! Sometimes, I'm afraid they care _too much_." She blinked the tears from her angry blue eyes. "The average person only has to cope with one or two tragedies—in their entire lifetime. Those two have to deal with three, or more—_every day_. They can't let their true feelings show. If they went around moping and mourning and feeling depressed all the time, they wouldn't be able to go out there and help people. But, even though they may not always show it, I assure you, the pain is _still there_… gnawing away at their insides." The agitated RN paused to blink her vision clear once more. "Believe me, they pay a _high price_ for it, too. And it certainly doesn't make matters any easier for them when people, like **you**, accuse them of not _caring_. So please, do me—and them—a great big favor. Don't make their job any rougher than it already is. You just don't know what it's like for them. You just don't understa—" the upset nurse's voice cracked with emotion and she immediately began taking her leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" Dixie disappeared down the hall, in the direction of the Doctors' Lounge.

Nathan's aunt just continued to stand there in front of the abandoned counter at the Nurses' Station, looking lost in thought.

* * *

Later that afternoon, at LA County's Fire Station 51…

Captain Hank Stanley entered the Station's sleeping quarters in search of his missing crewman. He found his youngest paramedic sitting on his bunk, moping and mourning and looking more than a little depressed. "John! You've got a visitor, pal…" That said, the fire officer did an about face and exited the dorm.

Gage slowly lifted his hanging head and watched as Nathan's aunt entered the room and stepped right up to his bunk. "Have you come to lodge a formal complaint?" he quietly inquired.

"Actually, I've come to apologize," the woman quickly countered, and stood there looking—and feeling—more than a little…ashamed.

John stared disbelievingly back at her.

"I am so-o sorry," she sincerely said. "I-I just didn't realize what you men have to cope with. I hope you'll forgive me…"

The fireman heaved an audible sigh of relief and got stiffly to his feet. "I'm just glad that you finally believe me. I really **do** _care_ about what happened to Nathan, and **I** am so-o sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. I'm sorry for _your_ loss, too. I only hope you won't dwell on it for too long. We need you to go back about your business…of saving lives." The remorseful lady timidly extended her trembling right hand.

Gage flashed Nathan's aunt a grateful smile and offered her a hug, instead.

The woman returned his smile and eagerly took the 'caring' young rescuer up on his offer.

**The End**


	29. Chapter 29

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"**

"Good morning!" firefighter, Roy DeSoto, greeted his paramedic partner, John Gage, as he came strolling into Station 51's locker room in his street clothes. "…or not," he quietly tacked on, when his glum-faced friend all but ignored him.

A mumbled—er, grumbled, "Morning," was all Gage was willing—or able—to muster up at the moment. He opened his locker and then took a seat inside it.

Noting that his seated associate was obviously in some sort of a 'funk', DeSoto quickly finished donning his uniform and then wisely fled from the room.

* * *

"Aren't you going to ask how my date with Cheri went?" a uniformed Gage prompted, once he'd caught back up with his evasive partner, out in the parking bay five minutes later.

"Nope!" Roy replied, and kept right on adding to his growing list of needed medical supplies. He'd learned to stop asking _long ago_, in the hope that, if he didn't _ask_, his friend wouldn't _tell_, because if his bachelor buddy's date had gone well, he was insufferable. If the date had gone badly, he was still insufferable. Either way, Roy really didn't wanna hear it.

"Why not?" John wondered, his scowl deepening.

The senior paramedic paused in his list compiling. "Because the answer to that particular question is written all over your frowning face. _That's_ why not."

"Maybe so," Gage was forced to concede. The paramedic pointed to his pouting lips. "But _this_ is just an 'overview'. You don't know any of the horrendous 'details', yet."

'Yeah. And I'd like to keep it that way,' DeSoto silently realized. The paramedic pocketed his pen and notebook and left to seek refuge in the dayroom.

His moping shiftmate shadowed right along.

* * *

Roy poured himself a cup of coffee, pulled a chair out from the table and plopped down upon it.

Johnny did likewise. "I thought she was real _sweet_. Turns out, she's nothing but a _snob_. Spent half the night talking about how her last boyfriend took her to the _French Riviera_. Like **I** wanted to hear about her rolling around on some beach all night—with another guy!"

'Believe me. I _know_ the feeling,' Roy silently assured him. The paramedic picked himself and his coffee cup up and stepped over into the rec' area, where he pretended to be grossly absorbed in their Captain's latest postings to their bulletin board.

But again, his miffed amigo followed right along. "Then, we get back to her place, right? And she introduces me to her roommate, Melody. Ma-an! That woman was unbelievable! She just would **not** leave me alone! Kept circling me—the entire evening! Like she was some sort a' vulture and I was this prize piece of carrion. Yah know?"

'Boy! Do I _ever_!' Roy morbidly mused.

Their crewmate, Chet Kelly, had sauntered into the kitchen and was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee. Upon hearing John's latest statement, his mustached face scrunched up a might. "Interesting comparison, Gage. Not that you don't _look_ like buzzard bait…" he added and flashed Roy a wry smile.

DeSoto couldn't help but grin.

Gage groaned and gave the interrupter an icy glare. "Look, do you _mind_? This is a _private_ conversation."

"Oh yeah?" Kelly quickly came back. "I always thought it took _two_ people to carry on a conversation…and, if it's so 'private', then how come we could hear you from clear on over in the locker room?" He gave John Gage's silent, long-suffering friend a deeply sympathetic glance. "You should just do what I do, and tell him to _shut _his_ yap_."

If he thought that approach had the slightest chance of working, Roy would have been sorely tempted to give it try sometime.

Just as Johnny was about to make a witty comeback to his tormentor, their Captain poked his head into the room.

"Would you care to join us for Roll Call, gentlemen," Hank Stanley ordered more than asked.

"Sure thing, Cap!" Roy eagerly—er, gratefully responded.

Johnny closed his gaping jaws and followed his grinning shiftmates out into the garage. "I'll have to tell you the rest, later."

'You don't _have_ to,' Roy silently corrected him. 'But you will…' the fireman finished with a weary sigh.

No doubt about it, DeSoto was definitely going to have to rethink his 'don't ask, don't tell' policy.

**The End**


	30. Chapter 30

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Thirty: "X Marks the Spot"**

LA County fireman/paramedic, John Gage, paused in his polishing and glanced up. "I can't recall ever rescuing a shoe salesman. Can you?"

His partner, Roy DeSoto, was in the process of giving their rescue squad's windshield another squirt of Windex. He also halted, right in mid-spritz, to give his questioner a strange stare and a shake of his blond head.

John resumed his polishing. "Still, I can't imagine _me_ being a shoe salesman. Not that there's anything wrong with selling shoes. I mean, somebody has to sell them, or we'd all be running around barefoot. Man! I could never hack that job, though. All those sweaty sox and grody feet! And the boredom! I hate to admit it, but I'm addicted to the lights…the sirens…the action…the excitement…the danger! I love it! It's in my blood! Compared to _this_," he paused again, to give their firetruck a few affectionate pats with his polishing cloth, "selling shoes would be about as exciting as watching paint dry," he wryly surmised and flashed his partner a broad grin. He caught his companion's strange stare and his smile immediately disappeared. "Wha-at?"

"Nothing. I just tend to forget—from shift to shift—just how…_eccentric_ you really are."

"Oh. Ain't that just great. I share my innermost thoughts with my _best_ friend, and he thinks I'm _weird_."

"I never said that!"

"Eccentric is just a fancy way of saying 'weird'. THEY call very important people eccentric. But THEY mean weird. And, I'm no V.I.P.. So that makes me 'weird'."

"Yeah? Well, **I** said 'eccentric'. And, I _meant_ eccentric! After all, you're _my_ partner. That makes _you_ pretty damn important…in my books."

John thought all that over for a few seconds. Then, failing to find fault with his best buddy's logic, he resumed his polishing.

Roy pursed his lips and went back to his window washing.

Chet Kelly exited their fire station's rec' room and paused in the parking bay, to bug—er, to scrutinize the job John was doing on the Squad. "You missed a spot," he teased.

"Forget it, Chet," John advised him. "I'm not falling for that."

"Falling for what?" Kelly innocently queried. "I was just trying to be help—"

The alarm went off.

All three firemen froze.

"**Battalion 14…Engine 51…**" the dispatcher began.

Gage and DeSoto untensed.

"—ful," Chet finished and obediently began trotting toward Engine 51.

"**Assist Truck 123 and Station 12 with a structure fire…**"

Station 51's paramedics turned their full attention back to the task at hand.

"I'm probably going to regret this," Roy realized, speaking loud enough to be heard over the commotion of their crewmates scrambling and their Captain acknowledging the call, "but, what was all that talk about a shoe salesman?"

John flipped his polishing rag over. "It doesn't necessarily have to be a shoe salesman. That just happened to be the safest job I could think of at the moment."

The Engine left the station with its lights flashing and its siren wailing, and the garage door slowly began grinding its way back down.

The two remaining firemen tensed up again, as the tones suddenly resounded.

"**All units responding with Truck 123 and Station 12…Cancel**."

"It's gonna be one of 'those' days," Gage glumly predicted, but then instantly brightened. "A reporter! I can't remember ever rescuing a reporter, either. Yeah. Yah know, that wouldn't be too bad." He flashed his bewildered buddy another broad grin. "Might even be a little 'exciting'…at times."

His partner promptly went from incredibly confused to deeply concerned. "You're not actually thinking about _quitting_…_Are_ you?"

John gave his extremely anxious-sounding associate a '_Wha-at? Are you_ _nuts_?' look. "Of course not! I worked a split shift with Mark Griesen last week. And we sort a' got to talkin' about what we would be doin', if we weren't doin' _this_," he paused to pat the Squad again. "To make it more of a challenge, Mark suggested we go from the most dangerous, to the safest job imaginable. Looks like Mark and I are gonna be workin' together again tomorrow. So, I was just lining up some 'safe' occupations."

Roy heaved a huge, silent sigh of relief and then stepped back from their rescue vehicle to admire its glistening windows.

There was a loud '_click_' and the garage door began grinding its way back up.

They watched Mike Stoker back 'Big Red' into its recently vacated parking space.

The engine crew stowed their coats and helmets away and then climbed stiffly down to stand beside their shiftmates, in the center of the apparatus bay.

"Wish all our calls were like that," Hank Stanley wistfully stated. The Captain's eyes caught sight of the 'spit and polished' Squad and he let out a low whistle. "Nice job, gentlemen!"

The rest of the guys gave the glistening firetruck a critical examination and then nodded in agreement.

"Thanks!" the polishing pair replied, speaking in perfect unison.

"Lookin' good, Gage!" Kelly quickly contributed. "Except for that _one_ spot you missed," he added, with a wink to his fellow firefighters.

The engine crew exchanged grins. The four amused firemen saw the dark-haired paramedic's head start to swing around, and their expressions instantly sobered.

"Where?" an extremely skeptical John Gage inquired—er, demanded.

Chet stepped up to one of the truck's side compartment's doors and made an 'X' in the air. "Right there."

The polisher placed his face right up to the spot in question. "You should probably make an appointment to get your eyes examined," he finally determined, "because I don't see _anything_ 'right there'."

"You just can't see it from that angle," Mike Stoker joined in.

"Yeah," Marco Lopez agreed. "It's right there."

John studied them, and then the compartment door, carefully. He turned back to Kelly's co-conspirators just in time to see their grins vanish. "Nice try," he told them, with a sarcastic smirk, and went to put his polishing cloth away.

"Toss me the rag!" Kelly called after him. "I'll wipe it off."

"There's nothing there!" Gage shouted back over his shoulder.

"Too bad," their Captain commented, and started heading for his office. "Sort a' ruins the whole effect."

John stopped dead in his tracks and turned back toward their truck, looking a little less certain.

"You're really _not_ going to wipe it off?" Mike incredulously inquired.

"No. _No_. I am not going to wipe it off," John assured him. "Because there's nothing there _to_ wipe off."

"Tacky," the engineer sadly determined and started heading for the rec' room.

"I'm no 'perfectionist'," Marco admitted. "But I'd sure wipe it off, if it were my job." That said, he gave the compartment door one last distasteful glance and then followed his chum, Chet, into the rec' room.

"It's not gonna work you guys!" John smugly informed his fellow firefighters. "Because I _know_ there is no spot!" he confidently added and turned to his partner for further assurance.

"Don't worry about it," Roy advised. "I probably left a few spots myself." He gave the truck's glistening glass surfaces a final inspection and then left the garage, sporting a smug smile of approval.

His polishing partner's confident look completely vaporized. He stepped back up to their spiffy-looking firetruck and studied its entire passenger side—from many different angles. "There is no spot," he triumphantly told the empty garage. But then, just to be on the safe side, he re-ran his polishing rag over the compartment door in question. Upon hearing his friends' suppressed laughter, John's arm froze—right in mid-re-swipe. He grimaced and reluctantly turned toward the rear of the Squad. He saw his grinning shiftmates peering back at him, and groaned.

"Behold!" Chet dramatically declared, looking and sounding tremendously pleased with himself. "It's 'John _gullible_ Gage'…in the flesh."

"Oh-oh shut up, Chet," the paramedic insincerely chided. John _gullible_ Gage tossed his polishing rag into his gloating tormentor's mustached face and then grinned right back at his still-snickering Captain and crewmates. "Now _that_ really hit the spot."


	31. Chapter 31

"EMERGENCY! Moments In Time"

**Chapter Thirty-One:** "**Sore Losers"**

It was a lousy ending to an already bad day.

Their 'possible heart attack' victim didn't make it.

In fact, of the many medical emergencies Squad 51 had been summoned to—so far that shift—paramedics John Gage and Roy DeSoto had yet to save a single life.

The discouraged pair returned to their fire station and climbed wearily out of their rescue truck.

* * *

Captain Hank Stanley and his engine crew were just sitting down to dine.

The four famished firemen watched wordlessly as their long-faced friends dragged themselves into the day room. They continued watching as the pair stepped right on past their places at the kitchen table and up to the coffee-maker.

If Chet Kelly had had the slightest inkling as to just how _shitty_ the paramedics' shift was going, he probably wouldn't have paused in his plate loading to inquire about their last call. "So-o…How'd it go?"

John exhaled a resigned sigh and glanced up from his steaming mug. "The guy was dead when we got there," he bitterly replied. "He remained dead, following a full fifteen minutes of drugs, definitive care and counter-shocks. In spite of the 25 minutes of CPR that was performed—flawlessly—in the back of a speeding ambulance, the victim was dead upon arrival. The patient was still dead, when we left the hospi—"

"—All right, already!" Kelly unconditionally surrendered. "We get the picture! Sheesh, Gage! Sometimes, you can be unbelievably _morbid_."

Roy raised his deeply troubled gaze from his own steaming cup. "So can this job," he sadly summed up and traded an extremely glum glance with his equally bummed partner.

Suddenly, the claxons sounded.

"**Squad 51…**"

The two men set their untouched mugs down on the counter and then went trotting off in the direction of their recently vacated rescue vehicle.

"We got it, Cap!" Johnny shouted back over his shoulder.

Hopefully, their evening wouldn't end on as miserable a note as their day had.


End file.
